


Believe Again

by Jentrevellan



Series: Elsie Trevelyan [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crisis of Faith, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Family Drama, Innuendo, Loss of Faith, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Mages (Dragon Age), Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Templars, The Chantry (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22698418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jentrevellan/pseuds/Jentrevellan
Summary: ‘Have you ever stared into the rain;Felt the clouds would never disappear?Have you ever screamed out in the dark;Thinking no one else could hear?’The story of Mage Inquisitor Elsie Trevelyan and Commander Cullen Rutherford exploring family politics, loss of faith, finding oneself and each other, battling inner demons and real ones. Tags to be updated. Chapters to be posted monthly (1st Thursday of every month)!
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford/Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Elsie Trevelyan [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/920382
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	1. Elsie

> _The day the Ostwick Circle fell was one that firmed up the mage rebellion. Known throughout Thedas as one of the more ‘sedate’ circles, Ostwick was known for generally good relations between mages and templars. Perhaps because the circle was rather inbred with many noble families having sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, cousins and the like as both mages and templars within the walls. My time there was much the same - my sister was a templar along with an uncle on my mother’s side and I believe I had a few distant cousins scattered around too. I, like my fellow mages, was studious, well-behaved and cherished the circle as a place of learning and wisdom, and a refuge from my life before my magic quickened. It was not a place of confinement or punishment in my experience, and dare I say it, many who resided in the Ostwick Circle probably felt the same. Although we had little choice, I would say that most of us did want to be there and have fond memories of our lives behind its walls - until the circle fell, of course._
> 
> _-_ Extract from ‘Torn Asunder’, the memoirs of Inquisitor Elsie Trevelyan
> 
> * * *

**1\. Elsie**

When she woke up, she didn’t know where she was.   
  
Her eyes opened slowly and she reached out in the dark. Her fingers found silk sheets and warm blankets and she gazed up at a canopy above her; the Trevelyan family crest delicately weaved with gold thread in intricate patterns around stitched ivy and foliage. 

Elsie Trevelyan sat up in the large four poster bed and realised that she was in her old room, from when she used to live in this house. It hadn’t changed much since she had left almost fifteen years ago - her doll’s house sat in the corner; one of the books she must’ve been reading still lay open on a chaise by one of the large windows overlooking the formal gardens. To the unassuming eye, one might’ve thought that someone had died, the way nothing had been touched. But Elsie bitterly thought that leaving it thus had probably made things easier for her parents to pretend that their eldest daughter and heir _had_ died, to escape the truth that she had been sent to the Circle.   
  
A soft knock on the chamber door pulled her out of her thoughts. She sat up in bed and croaked out an ‘enter’, her voice still husky from sleep. 

The woman who walked in was taller than Elsie by a head and carried herself with elegance and grace, despite her height. Dark hair fell in tight ringlets down her back and her scarlet dress flowed around her as she strode over to Elsie’s windows and pulled the curtains back. 

Elsie blinked rapidly at the sudden light but the woman ignored her discomfort and came to stand on the other side of the bed.   
  
“You can’t stay in here all day, you know,” she said in her clipped voice; her perfectly shaped eyebrows raised. “It’s almost noon.”   
  
Elsie shook her head. “You know me Etta - I’ve never been a morning person.”   
  
Her sister, Lucetta crossed her arms and despite her perfect appearance and her feigned annoyance she couldn’t help but smile, and Elsie offered the same in return  
  
She sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing her skirts out. “I didn’t even know you were coming,” she said, reaching to take Elsie’s hand. They had been close sisters once, with all but a year between them in age, and Lucetta’s sudden familiarity surprised Elsie, but she did not pull her hand away.   
  
“I arrived in the early hours, before dawn,'' she replied, offering her sister a sympathetic smile. “It’s become a habit, moving under the cover of darkness as a fugitive.”   
  
Her face darkened. “Even though you’ve done nothing wrong,” she said.   
  
Elsie shrugged. “According to the Chantry, all mages are now apostates. I do what I must to survive.”   
  
Lucetta’s shoulders sagged. “I know that. Look, Evie will be arriving this afternoon... will things be alright?” she asked tentatively.   
  
Ah yes, Evie, their younger sister. Elsie nodded slowly. “I’ll be on my best behaviour, I swear.”   
  
Lucetta squeezed Elsie’s hand. “Thank you. You know it means so much to us all if you two get along.”   
  
“We always used to, before I went to the Circle,” Elsie reminded her. “The four of us were all so close.”   
  
“I remember,” she said softly, getting up to stand by the window. “It seems only last week that I was sobbing in mother’s arms when you were taken away. And it feels like yesterday when Evie left to join the Templars.”   
  
There was a pause before Elsie said softly, “You know it wasn’t my choice to leave.”   
  
Lucetta nodded, her ringlets bouncing. “I know. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if you hadn’t been sent to the Circle, and stayed as heir apparent?”   
  
Elsie looked away. As the eldest of all of Bann Trevelyan’s children, she was always set to inherit. Indeed, all of her childhood had drilled that undisputed fact into her head. No expense was spared - she learnt to fight with training swords, speak eloquently and had even sat in on meetings their father had with visiting nobility, so she could learn Ostwick politics. It wasn’t fun in the slightest, but Elsie honestly thought at the time that it was where the Maker wanted her. So she was studious and complied. And was rather good at it.   
  
But then her magic had quickened, on the same day as her first moon’s blood. Elsie remembered running to the training yard, battling a straw dummy with her blunt sword, when she accidentally set the dummy on fire. By the end of the next day, she was in the Circle.   
  
“The Maker works in strange ways,” Elsie said eventually, looking back at her tall sister. Upon Elsie’s leaving, Lucetta had assumed the role as heir, and taken to the position in a better way than any of them ever could have imagined. She looked more like their father with her long face so there was no doubt who her predecessor was. 

Lucetta smiled. “Indeed He does.” She turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Come now; lunch will be served shortly and Cecelia is _dying_ to see you.”   
  
Elsie grinned at the prospect of seeing their youngest sister, who she absolutely doted upon, as did all of them. As Lucetta left, Elsie stretched luxuriously: she couldn’t remember the last time she woke up in a feather bed - not since before the war broke out, anyway. And the ones in the Circle were nowhere near as comfortable.   
  
Reluctantly she pulled herself out of bed. Her bare feet relished the softness of the thick Antivan rugs as she headed over to the privy, warming the pitcher of water with a touch of her hand, barely using a wisp of magic. She splashed it over her face and neck before dabbing her skin dry with a soft cloth that smelt faintly of lavender. Before the looking glass, a woman peered back at her who she hardly recognised - it had been many months since she had seen her appearance, with personal vanities a luxury of the past. Misty grey eyes stare back; ones that look older than their twenty seven years. Her tanned skin and chestnut hair had seen better days - her cheeks which were once full and rosy were now gaunt and her long hair was flat and lifeless, when it used to be soft and voluptuous. On her right cheek, she traced the burn scar with a finger, but it was numb under her touch. An ugly thing, to be sure, but she was grateful her injury from the war was nothing worse.  
  
When she stepped back into my chamber, the bed had been made and a fire recently lit. On the bed was a dark green dress, cut in the Ostwick style with a low curved neckline and long light skirts. She hesitated before running the material lightly through her fingers, the fabric so light it slid like water. A dress for a lady to wear, not an apostate, disowned by her family. Elsie turned away and spotted her pack in the corner of the room. Within moments she had found her old robes from the Circle - the faded red and gold of an Enchanter’s robe. It had seen better days and was rough around the edges, but after fifteen years of being informed that she was not Lady Trevelyan anymore, why should that change? Indeed, before the Circles fell, she had begun to carve her life out at the Circle as a teacher. Perhaps she could’ve become the First Enchanter...  
  
Elsie shook her head; there was little point thinking on what could have been. Everything changed in Kirkwall, and despite being the neighbouring Circle, it took a long time for the chaos to reach them. So she pushed aside all remorse, smoothed down her robes and pulled her long hair back into a simple ponytail.   
  
The corridors and hallways of the house were a maze, and she could only just about remember how to find the drawing room. Her route took her through the entrance hall, where on the landing by the large sweeping staircase, sat a gigantic painting. She paused and looked up, to see her family looking back at her, including a younger, prepubescent Elsie. She stood next to her father, his hand resting on their mother’s shoulder who sat on a stool, her long skirts smoothed neatly. At her feet sat her youngest sister Cecelia, who at the time of this painting was around three years old. This had been painted just weeks before Elsie’s magic had revealed itself. As far as she was aware when she stood for this painting, in her sweet periwinkle blue dress and her dirty boots, she was her parent’s heir and most prized child. Standing on the other side of her in the painting was her younger sister Evie, whose cropped hair and breeches made her look more like a boy than the daughter of a noble. Her eyes shifted to Lucetta who stood looking the most regal of all the Trevelyan sisters, in her dark emerald gown, looking as noble as their mother, but with the features of father. 

“The happy family,” a deep voice behind Elsie said dryly. She glanced over her shoulder and then whipped her head around in disbelief.

“Henry?!” 

A tall man with dark wavy hair brushing his shoulders stood looking up at the portrait with a grin on his face. Elsie threw her arms around his neck and he lifted her up, hugging her like he used to when they were children. 

Finally he set her down chuckling and she stared at him, feeling a massive smile on her face - the first genuine one in a long time. 

“What in the world are you doing here? I thought you were in Antiva?” 

He shrugged his shoulders - an action that was just so characteristically Henry. “Hey, I may not be a favoured family member, but I’m still a member of this family, I think. Bann Trevelyan wanted everyone here.” 

“Well _I’m_ glad you’re here,” she grinned, elbowing him, but he was looking up at the painting again. After a moment she said “I still can’t believe you weren’t included in this portrait.” 

“Lady Trevelyan would rather pretend I don’t exist, and, for most of the time, I’m content with that.” He shrugged again, brushing it off. “I’m pretty sure these official portraits are meant to show the family at their best, not their worst.” 

“You’re not the worst by any means,” she shook her head. “Besides, if there was to be another portrait done today, I wouldn’t be included.”

“The mage and the bastard - _what_ a scandal,” Henry took her hand and looped it into the crook of his elbow, and they walked slowly down the hall together. “Anyway, what’s it like being lawless, living on the run? Not knowing where your next meal is coming from?”

“Hmm, yes because you’re a _complete_ stranger to that lifestyle choice,” she chuckled. 

“Alright - in all seriousness, you know what I mean.”

“You? Serious? Henry, I don’t think I know you anymore. Antiva has changed you,” she said in mock disgust, wrinkling her nose for effect. 

He threw his head back and laughed, his voice echoed down the corridor. “Indeed it has. But I have missed you, little sister.” 

They walked down hallways and corridors until more voices could be heard. Elsie gently removed her hand from Henry’s arm as they approached the drawing room. An elven servant stood ready to open the door and announce them. Henry and Elsie exchanged a glance before the doors opened for them to enter.

“Announcing Enchanter Elsie Trevelyan of the Ostwick Circle of Magi and Henry FitzLeland Trevelyan.” 

They stepped in together and the room fell silent. Large thin windows overlooked the gardens and immaculate Orlesian and Marcher items furnished the room. There were several sofas, chaises and armchairs positioned by the fireplace where the rest of her family were gathered. Not since before Elsie was sent to the Circle have so many Trevelyans been in one room. Half of them she didn’t recognise, but most wore Chantry robes. There were a few cousins, aunts and uncles, but she didn’t know their names - indeed, they probably only know her as the mage who lived in the Circle, and Henry as the troublesome bastard. 

Elsie spotted Lucetta perched on the edge of a sofa, and made her way over to her, hoping to just slip into the group. But she didn't go unnoticed, when her youngest sister Cecilia bounced up to her and almost knocked Elsie over with a hug.   
  
“El! You’re here!” She squealed, squeezing her tightly. Elsie hugs her in return, feeling a room full of eyes upon them. “And Henry!” Cecelia gave him a brief hug too, her bright smile lighting the room. 

But Cecelia was oblivious to any discomfort and took a step back, holding Elsie’s arms and looked up at her, as if memorising her face. Elsie did the same in return and for the first time in almost four years, looked down at her youngest sibling who was barely eighteen and already a Chantry Sister. The white and red robes suited her complexion and her light brown hair was tucked neatly under her hood. Elsie reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair away, feeling a warmth spread in her heart to have two of her sisters and her brother in the same room once more. It was fair to say that they all had a soft spot for Cecelia with her contagious and bubbly personality. She had obviously meant to do Andraste’s work in the Chantry for she shared the Holy Lady’s mantra with a kind and gentle heart as any could ask for.   
  
“We’ve all missed you so much!” She continued, holding Elsie’s hand and leading her over to the sofa where Lucetta was perched. But her chest thudded almost painfully when she saw her mother in the armchair next to Lucetta, sipping tea through her thinly drawn lips.   
  
Without a doubt Elsie _had_ been her favourite. Lady Bette Trevelyan had high hopes for her and the family until her magic appeared. Indeed, she was pretty sure it is because of Bette Trevelyan that Elsie’s room remained the way it was. Although she was her mother, there was no doubt that she still resented Elsie for the little scandal her magic caused - the eldest child and heir to the Trevelyan estate, a mage? Her dear mother had never been so humiliated, even when the existence of Henry was made public.   
  
Elsie inclined her head. “My lady mother,” she said politely, remembering protocol she had not practiced for many years. Whenever she was allowed a short visit home, her mother was hardly ever around to see her, let alone talk to her. Always had another party or soiree to attend.   
  
“ _Enchanter_ Trevelyan,” Bette Trevelyan replied stiffly, placing emphasis on her title and looking at her dirty robes. “‘Enchanter’ of what now, I wonder?”   
  
“Mother, please…” Cecelia begged quietly and Lucetta looked away.   
  
Elsie placed a hand on her hip. “It’s alright Cece - if our lady mother has something to say, I would like to hear it.”   
  
Her chest thudded at her boldness, and the room around them hushed. Bette Trevelyan stood gracefully, teacup and saucer still in hand. “It is shameful how far the lowest of the Maker’s children have fallen, and now this - to think they could fall any lower.”   
  
Elsie visibly bristled, and clasped her hands before her to stop them shaking. “Yes, thank you mother. Lest we forget that I am one of _your_ daughters.”   
  
“Something I pray for guidance on each and every single day,” she retorted.   
  
“The Maker-” Cecelia began but a warning look from Bette Trevelyan silenced her. Indeed, it was a look that could silence a Blight, if she so willed it.   
  
“To think,” her mother continued, “that those who are cursed with magic, who have been given good and kind shelter by the honest and faithful, dare rise up against their so-called ‘injustice’. You have no idea how fortunate you were, how lucky that you’re all not killed or instantly made Tranquil.”   
  
It was like a kick in the ribs for Elsie to hear her own mother speak so forthright about who she was - _what_ she was. She took a steadying breath. “Magic exists to serve…” she began, with a few agreeable nods around the room from family members.   
  
“This is not serving!” She exclaimed and Elsie stared. Never had she seen her mother - the woman who is always so composed, eloquent and careful with her words - so unhinged.   
  
“That’s quite enough,” a deep voice cut through. They all turned to see Elsie’s father Bann Leland Trevelyan in the doorway, a younger woman at his side in full Templar armour. It took Elsie a few moments to recognise that the woman was her other sister, Evie.   
  
Elsie and Evie looked at each other from across the room, as if sizing one another up. Evie had cropped dark hair and a slight limp when she walked into the room. She also had a huge scar from her left brow, down to her cheek, which narrowly avoided her eye. They hadn’t seen one another since Ostwick fell almost eight months prior. Elsie looked at Evie uncertainty as her templar sister walked into the room with their father, who ushered the rest of the family out, so - for the first time almost fifteen years - it was the immediate Trevelyan family only. Bann Trevelyan, his wife and the four Trevelyan daughters. Even Henry was shown out, although Elsie dearly wished he could’ve stayed: mages were bastards in their parents eyes. Great Aunt Lucille lingered by the doorway, but with a polite nod from her nephew their father, the socialite aunt reluctantly took her leave also.   
  
The servants left the room also, closing the door behind them, and silence enveloped them. Their mother was the first to move, striding across the room to fold Evie into her arms. Evie barely returned the embrace, her eyes were still fixed solely on Elsie. When they broke apart, the rest of the family looked between Elsie and Evie, and it seemed as if they were collectively holding their breath.  
  
After a moment, Cecelia was finally the one to break the silence by hugging Evie just as tightly she did Elsie and Henry. ‘I’ve missed you so much! Look, Elsie is here too!”  
  
“Yes, I can see that,” Evie said quietly. Elsie took a step forward, wringing her hands together.   
  
“How have you been?” she asked softly.   
  
Evie pointed to her scar. “Could be better, but could’ve been worse,” she replied. Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.   
  
Despite the circumstances, Elsie felt the corners of her mouth twitch as she pointed to her own scar. “Same here.”   
  
Before either of them could say another word, their father cleared his throat and ushered us to the table at the centre of the room. They each took a seat and Elsie carefully positioned herself next to her father and away from her mother. Lucetta sat on the other side of Elsie, folding her hands in her lap, her chin held high. It was more like a business meeting, not a catch up of family members.   
  
An elven servant entered with a tray of Antivan coffee and served us in silence. Elsie couldn’t help but watch how his hands trembled as he served their mother. She felt uncomfortable and shifted in her seat - Elsie had forgotten how the elves are second-class citizens and alienated in upper society. In the Circle, race and gender hadn’t mattered, and all were equal and judged purely on skill and talent. She couldn't help but think of her friends who were elves in the Circle. She wondered where they were now. But Bann Trevelan interrupted her musings before she could dwell further.   
  
“I’m not going to beat around the bush, let’s get straight to the point,” he said, clasping his hands together. It had been a long time since Elsie had seen her father in a meeting situation like this - not since before her magic appeared - and she’d forgotten how easily Bann Trevelyan could command a room. He had their undivided attention, although Elsie did find her mind wondering when she saw that his once auburn hair was now thinning and silver at the temples. Her father was aging well, but without a doubt, he _was_ aging. And that fact made Elsie feel a little nostalgic from her life before the Circle. Despite not being part of one now, that life she had before could never come back - Lucetta had that privilege now.   
  
‘We are in a unique position,” Leland was saying, and held up a letter. “I’ve received a message from the Divine, requesting our presence as she holds a conclave to end the war.”   
  
Evie and Elsie looked at each other across the table. “Are the mages willing to listen?” Evie says. Elsie bit her tongue and held off a retort and instead looked to Bann Trevelyan for an answer.   
  
“Both Grand Enchanter Fiona and Lord Seeker Lucius are requested to attend,” he said carefully, spreading his hands.   
  
Elsie cleared her throat. “I’ve already received word that a great number of mages will be attending,” she said, thinking of my contacts in the apostasy underworld. _Who knew two years ago that I would know such people?_ She thought.   
  
Lady Bette Trevelyan narrowed her eyes. “Is that so?” she sniffed, taking a sip of coffee through pursed lips.   
  
“Bette,” Leland Trevelyan said quietly. She nodded and remained silent, but glared at Elsie over the rim of her cup.  
  
“So we need to decide who will attend on behalf of the Trevelyan family?” Lucetta confirmed.   
  
Bann Trevelyan nodded. “I believe that I should attend but my duties and my... health keep me here.” Elsie shota glance at Lucetta but she shook her head. Their father’s health? _A question for another time_ , Elsie thought. “It’s a long way to where the Divine wants to hold the Conclave.”  
  
Lucetta glanced over the letter. “Haven? Where is that?”   
  
“It’s a remote village in Ferelden, in the Frostback mountains,” Leland replied.   
  
“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Cecelia said in an awed whisper. “That’s the village near the temple that was rediscovered during the Fifth Blight by the Hero of Ferelden.”   
  
“Ferelden is an awfully long way,” their mother sniffed. “But we must bid to Most Holy’s calling...”  
  
“I will attend,” Lucetta said, but Leland shook his head.  
  
“No, I need you here to help run the estate, as you well know.”  
  
“But father-”  
  
“Perhaps Lucetta should go, as she’s the heir?” Bette chipped in, but they all started talking over each other.   
  
Elsie watched them disagree and sargue, with even Cecelia saying her piece. Finally Elsie stood but was ignored. She waited another moment before summoning a small but powerful ball of fire into the palm of her hand. The crackling and heat of the flames halted their discussion immediately and they all looked at her, startled.  
  
“Let’s not forget what I am,” she said evenly. “Nor what this war is about. The solution is simple - before the Circle fell I was a respected teacher to apprentices and I wished for no part in the rebellion… but I won’t deny that after being on the run I am sympathetic to their cause.” She took a breath and extinguished the ball in her palm. “Evie is also a Templar, who, I believe is also respected within the Order, or what’s left of it. And we are sisters from a noble house - we must attend together.”   
  
“And show a united front - of course. Elsie, you’re brilliant,” Leland beamed.   
  
Evie looked at Elsie warily. “I see your point, but we’re not exactly best friends, are we?” she said cooly.   
  
_We were once_ , she thought and tried to ignore the wrench in her gut at the thought. They had been so close - Evie becoming a Templar was mainly so they could stay close to one another.   
  
“It hardly matters now,” she said, more to herself than to anyone. “We need to be on the same level when at the Conclave to help with the talks. Perhaps that’s the best way we can find a solution... or a compromise at least.”   
  
“You’re right Elsie, of course you are. And Evie, are you willing?” Their father asked.  
  
They all looked over at her but she stared down at her cup of coffee which she hadn’t touched. “The Order is not what it was when I joined,” she said finally. “I daresay that I agree with Enchan- Elsie.” She said, meeting her gaze. “I suppose we should travel together?”   
  
To their surprise, Elsie shook her head before anyone could answer. “No, we should go separately by meeting at the Conclave, perhaps a day or two apart from one another. That way I can arrive with some of my contacts who will never know of the conversation that’s transpired here - the same for you too.”   
  
Evie nodded. “That makes sense.”   
  
“We also wouldn’t want to anger anyone by thinking that you’re my guard and I your prisoner.”   
  
“Oh come now, it was never that bad,” their mother interjected, rolling her eyes. “You we’re lucky to be in a place of study, to _atone_ for your Maker-given sin in a safe environment provided by the diligent and brave Templars”  
  
Anger licks Elsie’s stomach and she glared at Bette across the table. “That’s rich, considering you’ve never stepped foot within a circle”, she retorted.  
  
“Not this again...” Lucetta mumbled. But Elsie ignored her and both Elsie and Bette opened their mouths but Cecelia stood, knocking the table and making all the cups clatter.  
  
“Stop it, both of you!” She exclaimed. Elsie looked away, ashamed to see the tears welled in the corner of her eyes. “For the first time we’re all together - can we not just get along for once?”   
  
“You’re absolutely right Cece,” Elsie said, sitting back down. “But I shan’t apologise for speaking truths.”   
  
“Alright now that’s enough,” Bann Trevelyan said in a tired voice. “Cecelia, you’ll be accompanying your sisters to the Conclave - Divine Justinia has requested your presence by name.”   
  
Lady Bette Trevelyan’s anger disappeared instantly as she clapped her gloved hands in delight. “Oh, how marvellous! Cecelia dear, this will work wonders for your progression within the Chantry.”   
  
Cecelia bit her lip and nodded humbly, but was Lucetta who spoke, “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you mother?”   
  
An unbearably smug expression crossed Bette Trevelyan’s face. “I may have said the right words in the right ears…”   
  
“Thank you, mother,” Cecelia finally said. “I am most honoured to attend and see the Temple of Sacred Ashes for myself.”   
  
“Remember that it’s not just a pilgrimage my dear, but an opportunity for you and this family.”   
  
Elsie tried not to roll her eyes. _Trust my mother to capitalise on the chaos._   
  
“Cece can travel with me and the Templars,” Evie said.  
  
“There’s no need - she can come with me,” Elsie replied quickly, not trusting her sister’s Templar contacts. If they were anything like some of the templars at the Ostwick Circle, then no one would be in their right mind to trust their little sister with them  
  
“What, and travel with your fellow rebel mages?” Evie snorted. “Any of them could be abominations or practice blood magic.”   
  
“I can protect her from other mages if needs be,” she replied calmly. “And I can move undercover much easier than you.”   
  
“Magic turned to a noble purpose indeed,” their mother sniffed.  
  
But Elsie ignored them and turned to her father. “I can protect her from renegade templars and mages alike,” she said.   
  
“How about we let Cecelia decide?” Lucetta said from beside her. So they all turned to look at the small buck-toothed little sister expectantly. She reddened under their gazes and avoided any eye contact.   
  
“I don’t want to be a problem...” she mumbled.  
  
Bette tutted impatiently. “Then choose, darling.”   
  
Cecelia nodded more to herself than to their mother’s words. She spread her hands. “I feel I ought to go with Elsie.”   
  
“As you wish,” Evie said stiffly.   
  
“Don’t take it personally,” Elsie said, trying to lighten the mood. But Evie just looked at her, her lips pursed in an expression that mirrored their mother’s.   
  
There was a pause before Leland stood. “Well then, that wasn’t too painful now, was it?”   
  
“Father, I’ll help make arrangements if you wish,” Lucetta said, also rising.   
  
“Thank you dear, yes that would be a good help. I shall reply to the Divine at once with our plan”.   
  
“Thank you, father,” Evie said, and Elsie echoed her words. The elven servant pushed open the doors and Bann Leland Trevelan left with Lucetta in tow. Elsie looked around the room to see her remaining sisters talking to one another and her mother calling the rest of their relatives back into the room. 

Henry lingered in the doorway and offered her a smile. As the family mingled and chatted, the two outcasts remained by the door and surveyed the room, like wallflowers. 

“The mage and the bastard,” he sighed.

“The mage and the bastard,” Elsie repeated but smiled and turned to him. “So! Tell me all about Antiva…”

* * *


	2. Cullen

> _The journey across the Waking Sea and back to my homeland of Ferelden is one I’m trying to quickly forget. I neglected to even look at this journal as the words on the page had swirled around with the motion of the ship on what I was told, were relatively calm waters. On the little of what I remember about the journey, I quickly came to three key decisions:_
> 
>   * _No food - nothing - helps with seasickness. Or maybe that’s because there is nothing left inside to throw up._
> 

>   * _Staying above deck does help with the nausea somewhat. That is unless a certain Mr Tethras insists on keeping you company just to spite you._
> 

>   * _As it’s abundantly clear I will never get my sea legs, I can safely say that I am never, ever going on a ship again. Even if a Blight hits Ferelden. I’ll accept my fate._
> 

> 
> \- An extract from Commander Cullen Rutherford’s personal journal

* * *

**2\. Cullen**

A table. A chair. A trunk. A half-empty goblet of water. The smell of campfires. The melody of the early morning birdsong. 

Cullen woke in his cot inside the small tent on the outskirts of Haven. Once more his dreams had been… uncomfortable, and it took a moment for him to remember where he was. _Here, in Ferelden. I’m from Ferelden. I haven’t been here for almost ten years,_ he thought.

It was still very early but he preferred to begin his day when others were still sleeping - less disturbances that way, and there was something invigorating about getting work done when others were still wondering the fade, oblivious that a new day has started. So after a splash of cool water of his face and neck, he put on each piece of his armour - inspecting them in turn, still getting accustomed to his new attire that was not the Templar uniform he had been so familiar with, like an extension of his body; an extra limb, perhaps. Finally he pulled on his fur mantle - his very _Ferelden_ fur mantle - and checked the small looking glass by his bedside. He ran a hand through his hair, ensuring his curls were neatly flattened to a smart wave and nodded to himself. As always, before leaving the tent, he hesitated and stood by the flap, took a deep breath and flexed his fingers. Today was another new day. And he was here, alive. 

The early morning sun greeted him pleasantly and he paused for a moment to drink it in as it peered over the mountain tops. Looking around the small camp outside the village, most of his troops were still asleep, with their first drill not for another hour or so. A couple of messengers chatted quietly by the gates, their voices a low hum underneath the birdsong. 

With a confident gait, he strode through the gates, fresh snow crunching under his boots. The village would be filling up fast as the last of the travellers arrived today before heading up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes for the start of the Conclave. He took the path up to the Chantry, avoiding the inn, and soon found himself in the cool and sparse interior, empty save for a few Chantry sisters sleeping on bedrolls in alcoves. Later that day the Chantry would be completely empty, save for one or two lay sisters. Honestly, he couldn’t wait for the small little village to be as sleepy as it was when he arrived a few weeks ago. 

Pushing open the council chamber door, he paused as he spotted the ambassador, Lady Josephine Montilyet chatting to a dwarf by her office. The dwarf in question had dark skin and a stamp of the Carta on her cheek, along with a strange pair of spectacles on her head. She caught him staring and nodded to the ambassador, taking her leave. 

Josephine Montilyet looked after the dwarf before approaching Cullen with a sigh. “I had hoped nobody would see that,” she admitted. 

“What are the Carta doing here?” he asked, holding the door open for her.

The Antivan woman sighed again, tapping her quill on her ledger. “It’s… complicated Commander. The Carta and the dwarves in general have shown a great interest in the Conclave, knowing that decisions made could and probably will affect them.” 

“And they’re working with the Chantry?” 

“Not precisely,” Josephine said, avoiding his gaze. “If things turn sour, we may need a separate source of lyrium for any recruits who may wish to potentially join us.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Even hearing the word ‘lyrium’ sent a small shock through him, like someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water all over him. He hoped the ambassador did not notice. Instead he cleared his throat.

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

She nodded. “Let us hope.” 

They worked in silence until Leliana joined them a little later and shared some reports with them. Cassandra appeared an hour or so after with a book clutched to her chest. 

“The Divine is heading up to the Temple now,” she announced. “Although the talks don’t start until this afternoon, she wants to be one of the first there.”

Cullen looked between Cassandra and Leliana. “And you’re to remain here?” 

“We’ll go up later today, once most of the mages and Templars have arrived,” Leliana explained. 

“Has the Divine already left? I can send some of my recruits with her as an honour guard.” 

“No need,” Leliana interjected before Cassandra could reply. “Some of my agents are with her now, but dressed as soldiers.”

Cullen bristled at not being informed but let it slide and simply nodded. Leliana had been used to working solo, using her own initiative and making her own plans without the need of discussion before. He exchanged a look with Josephine who raised a brow, and appeared to be thinking the same thing. In order for them to work together, they couldn't keep each other in the dark, despite their different roles.

* * *

Around noon, they took a break for lunch, and with a bunch of reports in his hands, Cullen headed through the village and back towards his tent. He took the longer path back to ensure he avoided the tavern, which would no doubt be overflowing with patrons seeking a bite to eat and drink before heading up to the Temple. He wound his way through the growing crowds and finally saw his tent, but his path was blocked by his second-in-command, Rylen.

“Ah Cullen, been looking for you,” he said, his Starkhaven accent so strong, Cullen had to repeat the sentence over in his mind before he could answer. 

“Well I’m here; what is it?” Cullen asked, glancing impatiently at his tent and the solitude it will no doubt offer away from the crowds that swarmed around him.

“Message from Harritt - he says your commission is ready...?” 

Instantly his mood lifted and he made his way to the Blacksmithy, where the moustached smith welcomed him. 

“Commander!” Harritt greeted. “Come, come…” 

He guided Cullen to the workroom where a few assistants were busy finishing weapon requisitions. By Harrit’s desk sat a large shield with the Inquisition insignia. 

“Made from silverite and the same spec as Seeker Pentaghast’s,” Harritt explained, handing the shield to him. “Size has been tailored from the Templar shields, but the leather straps on the back make it much lighter and versatile.” 

Cullen took the shield in his hands and placed it on his left arm, fiddling with the straps. He held it up, then down, feeling the weight - it was certainly different than his old Templar issue, but it’s not an unwelcome change. 

“It’s going to take some getting used to,” he commented. 

Harritt shrugged. “That’s the truth. Here, try the sword”

He passed Cullen the long-sword who inspected it closely. For the first time ever, he would have a sword which was his own, not a standard issue. He held it aloft, feeling the balance and noted the same Inquisition insignia. Where as the shield felt new and heavy, the sword instantly felt right - a true extension of his arm. He could almost feel a rare smile tug at the corners of his mouth. 

“A fine blade,” Harritt stated and Cullen nodded. 

“You’ve outdone yourself.” 

The blacksmith waved a hand. “It was nothing. To improve a Templar issue sword wasn’t a difficult challenge - those old swords couldn’t cut butter half the time.” 

Cullen stayed and politely chatted with the man for as long as was necessary, even though he was itching to be away from the swelling crowds and find a straw dummy to practice on with his new sword and shield. Finally, another customer arrived to see Harritt, and Cullen excused himself, strapping his shield to his back, noting how light and secure it felt, and sheathed his sword in the new scabbard at his hip and carefully rested his hand on the pommel, satisfied with the security that little nuance gave him. 

He lifted his eyes to the training field, hoping to spot Rylen or someone else to perhaps train with until later that afternoon when he would make his way up to the Temple with the remainder of his men and women. But the throngs of people had grown considerably and Cullen was reminded of the bustling market square in Kirkwall's Hightown or- 

"Oof!" 

Somebody had collided with him but unfortunately for them, they had bounced off his armour and fallen to the ground. Initially angry, it was replaced by a wave of guilt when he saw that the person on the receiving end of his armour's ricochet was a young Chantry Sister. 

“Forgive me, Sister,” he apologised, holding out his hand to help her up. “I did not see you.”

“Nor I you,” she replied, brushing her robes down once she stood. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Well, I was trying to but there are so many people here and I can’t find my sister - my real sister that is, not a Chantry Sister…” she trailed off and Cullen noted how young she was, perhaps around the same age as his youngest sister, Rosalie. 

“I’m sorry, I’m babbling, aren’t I?” she said, laughing nervously. “My mother always told me to slow down and not chat so much, but… um… yes anyway, sorry again…”

“Wait, Sister…?”

She paused and finally looked up at him. “Cecelia. Sister Cecelia.” 

“Sister Cecelia,” he repeated, offering her a small smile. “You said you were looking for someone?”

Cecelia smiled nervously in return and Cullen had to wonder at her hesitance. That was until he saw her looking at his vambrace, where the flaming Templar insignia was engraved. 

“Err, yes I was, I mean I am,” she stammered. “My sister, my real sister.” 

“Alright, well let me help you find this ‘real sister’ of yours.” 

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh! Oh no, you don’t have to do that, Ser… umm…?”

“Cullen,” he supplied. “And I’m the one that just knocked over a Chantry Sister - the least I can do to apologise for it is to help her,” he said, hoping his attempts to ease her had worked.

“I… Well, thank you. I don’t want to attend the conclave without her, especially as we come all this way together.”

They started walking slowly towards the gates of Haven, going against the flow of people who were now heading out of the village to head to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He peered down at the young woman next to him and noted her buck teeth, her round face etched in apprehension as she scanned each person they passed. Truly, she was remarkably similar to how he imagined his younger sister who he hadn’t seen in…

 _Maker, how many years?_ He thought, almost stopping in his tracks to count. But the peeling of the Chantry bells noting the mid-afternoon convinced him otherwise, and that he should probably make haste in helping Cecelia find her sister and then head on up to the conclave himself. 

“Have you seen her?” he asked, also looking at the faces they passed, although not knowing the face of the person they were looking for. 

Sister Cecelia slumped her shoulders. “No, she’s not where I thought she would be.” 

Cullen rubbed his chin and then pointed to the tavern. “Perhaps she went to freshen up, or get some food?” 

The Sister looked doubtful but nodded politely. “I suppose she could have…”

They made their way to The Singing Maiden and once inside it was surprisingly quiet, as most people had now made their way up the mountain to the conclave. Cullen pointed to the inn keep Flissa, and suggested Cecelia ask her. As she did, Cullen spotted a small group of recruits grinning and joking over a few tankards of ale. 

He glared at them, knowing full well that they were under orders to prepare to depart. Soon, one of the soldier’s sixth sense kicked in and she looked up, her face paling when she saw him staring at them with what he could imagine was a look of utter contempt. He didn’t even need to say anything as the soldier stood abruptly, saluted to him, then hurried out, the other doing the exact same and following in her wake. 

Satisfied, Cullen turned to see Cecelia next to him, looking wary. She had obviously seen the whole exchange. 

“Any luck?” he asked, deciding to ignore her trepidation. 

Another sign. “She may have seen her. She’s usually good with faces, she was telling me, but it’s been so busy that my sister could’ve passed through almost unseen.” 

“But she’s not here now. Perhaps the Chantry?” he suggested. “She could very well be looking for you and when I was in the Chantry this morning, it was full of Sisters and Clerics.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Cecelia eyed his vambraces again and then back at the empty table where the slacking soldiers had sat moments before. “But I mustn’t take up any more of your time, Ser Cullen. I’m sure you have more important matters to attend to,” she said. It was such a polite way of saying she didn’t want his help or company anymore, that Cullen was sure that she must’ve come from some noble family. In his experience, only nobles skirted around the truth in such an ambiguously polite way. 

He decided to ignore the slight. “I’m heading up to the Chantry anyway,” he lied, thinking he could perhaps check in with Cassandra whilst he was up there. 

Once again, Sister Cecelia’s green eyes refused to meet his own and she nodded meekly. “Oh, sure, of course. You’re very kind, Ser.” 

He knew it was insincere, but again she had been polite about it anyway. He was young, so he tried not to take offence. 

During the short time they had been in the tavern, the village had emptied considerably. “You don’t suppose your sister might’ve gone with everyone else?” he suggested.

A vicious shake of her head let loose a few strands of auburn hair fall from her hood. “She promised we would go together and my sister always keeps her promises,” he replied in such a voice and tone that warranted no further discussion.

They walked the rest of the way in silence until Cecelia gasped: “There! By the doors! That’s her, my sister!” she pointed.

Cullen followed her pointed finger and saw a tall woman, perhaps only an inch or so shorter than him, leaning against the stone by the Chantry doors. Her arms were folded across her chest and her ankles crossed in a very relaxed fashion. Her clothes were worn, her boots and breeches crusted with mud and slightly damp from what Cullen guessed was from trudging through the snow. Her face was tilted towards the low winter sun, a wry smile on her lips and her olive skin glowing. He wasn’t sure why he found himself studying her so closely, but perhaps with everyone usually rushing around with no time to spare, to see someone look fairly relaxed despite it all was perhaps what he found most and usual, and perhaps it also helped that she was quite pleasing on the eye; what with her chestnut hair shining in the sun, her curiously long neck and - 

Her eyes snapped to his - misty grey surrounded by dark, thick lashes. Her frank look almost left him breathless but then he saw the staff slung over her back and her eyes had rested on his Templar vambraces. 

“Elsie! Elsie! Over here!” Sister Cecelia called from beside him, obviously unaware that her elder sister had already clocked him. The faint, wry smile that had touched her lips had all but disappeared and the look she was giving him now was so plain and expressionless that Cullen had to wonder if he had imagined it. Finally she looked at Cecelia. 

“There you are,” she said in a warm, almost melodic voice.” I thought perhaps you had found Evelyn and gone up without me.”

“Is Evelyn another sister you’re looking for?” Cullen jokes aloud, but his smile faltered under Cecelia’s sister’s steely cool gaze, when she replied: “Yes, actually.”

Cecelia looked between them and coughed. “Elsie, this is Ser Cullen - he was kind enough to help me look for you.”

Cullen held out his hand to shake hers. “It’s Commander Cullen, actually,” he said lightly, trying to ease the strange tension between them. “It’s nice to finally meet you, my lady.” 

Elsie looked down at his outstretched hand and then back to his face, making no move to shake it. Finally she said; “I was not aware that ‘commander’ was indeed a rank within the Templars,” she said casually, examining her gloved fingertips. “But then I am merely a mage and not privy to the details of Templar hierarchy.” 

Cullen started at her with his mouth open. Not since he’d met a particular Champion of Kirkwall had someone spoken to him in such a… condescending way. He bit back a retort, refusing to take her bait. 

“Ordinarily, you would be right,” he ground out as calmly as he could. “But I am not a Templar anymore.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Indeed,” she said. “I may not be part of a Circle anymore, but that doesn’t stop me being a mage now, does it?” 

He opened his mouth then quickly shut it, unusually at a loss for words. _She has an excellent point,_ he thought to himself. 

She took his silence as confirmation. “As I thought.” Elsie kicked herself off the wall and wrapped an arm around her younger sister’s shoulders. “Well, as enlightening as this has been, we really ought to be off. We’re going to be late.” 

Sister Cecelia nodded and once again glanced between her elder sister and Cullen. “Thank you again for your help, Commander Cullen.” 

He inclined his head. “The least I could do,” he replied, earning himself a glare from the mage. Cecelia noticed and decided to avoid another tense conversation, so steered herself out of her sister’s grip and headed down the path, leaving Elsie no choice but to follow, without another word to him.

“A pleasure to meet you too, Lady Elsie,” he said, loud enough for the mage to hear, but not for Sister Cecelia. Elsie paused in her step then continued without sparing him a backward glance - something that Cullen couldn’t help but grin smugly about. He always loved having the last word. 

Around two hours later, he and Cassandra rounded up any stragglers and began to make their way up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, bringing up the rear. 

And then the sky exploded. 

* * *

It’s funny how one remembers the small details when the world is ending. 

The smell of the air on a crisp spring morning. The taste of freshly picked summer strawberries. The sound of silence. The piercing look of those misty grey eyes. 

Those very eyes that slid to meet Cullen’s over the next wave of demons that spawned from the rift. He had little time to acknowledge her, as he swung his sword into the limb of a sprouting demon. It screeched in anger so he swung again, successfully decapitating it. After three solid days of fighting the blighted things, he had to bitterly admit that he was becoming well versed in how to kill the demons so once they were down, they stayed down. 

Cullen was vaguely aware of Cassandra fighting beside him, her swordsmanship techniques similar to his own, so they made quite a deadly duo when working in unison against their common enemy. They ducked and slashed together and then he felt hot fire obscure his senses. 

“Watch out Curly!” Varric Tethras called, and Cullen spun to see a looming terror demon grab his ankle and pull him down to the ground. He fell squarely on his chin, making his jaw jut. Groaning, he rolled onto his back, his grip on his sword still tight despite his fall. He swung it in an arch above him, but the demon dodged, and he barely made a mark on it and only seemed to antagonise it further. 

There was a sudden wave of heat, and a roar of an inferno that made him blink and squint at the intensity around him. The fire avoided him, and instead channelled around him, like water around a rock in a river. Instead the intense flames licked up the demon, wrapping it in a blazing embrace. It perished above him and Cullen stared at the now empty space where the demon had leered over him moments ago and saw an outstretched hand. He looked up to see her - the mage from Haven - holding her gloved hand out to him, her eyes darting around to ensure no demons would attack them unaware. 

He hesitated only for a moment but then grasped her wrist and let her help him to his feet. And in that moment that they touched, Cullen could feel an electric heat course through his veins. What terrified him was that he knew isn’t wasn’t just because of her magic. There was something more. But he had no time to process the peculiar feeling and sensation.

“You can thank me later,” she muttered before spinning her staff in her other hand and channelling through it to hit another demon with a ball of fire that was approaching Cassandra a few feet away. Without a backwards glance, she cast a ward over him.

He pushed their encounter from his mind as another blasted wave of demons poured through the rift. This time he did not let his guard down and fought with renewed vigour. He realised that he felt stronger, possibly because of a rejuvenating spell she had cast. The irony of it was not lost on him. 

* * *

"The rift is sealed! The conclave rift is sealed!" A soldier ran past, crying the words through the mountains, his face bright with joy, sharing the news with all who he passed. Those who heard him turned to one another and shared hugs and words of encouragement. For the first time since the explosion three days prior, people were starting to smile.

Cullen was crouched by an injured soldier when he finally saw the runner. He stood abruptly, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword out of habit.

"Soldier!" he called out. Reluctantly, the young man skidded to a halt before Cullen and saluted. 

"Commander!" he panted, his eyes wide, but still smiling.

"Report," Cullen ordered.

"Yes Ser," the young man replied, composing himself. "It’s true - I've come from the Temple myself - she - that is the mage prisoner - sealed the rift and slew the demon inside - with minimal casualties."

"And where is the prisoner now?"

"She collapsed when the rift was sealed: she used the magic on her hand - I saw it with my own eyes, Ser. It was incredible." He grinned from ear to ear, wanting to be the hero of the moment, to deliver the news to all. Cullen waited a moment, trying not to fall for the infectious joy of the soldier.

"The others who were there - are they injured?" Cullen finally asked, thinking of Cassandra and Varric.

"No Ser. Sister Leliana and Seeker Pentaghast are well and unscathed, and are personally carrying the stretcher of the Herald, who has not awoken."

"Herald?" he repeated, blinking.

"The Herald of Andraste, Ser - she saved us all by closing the rift, thanks to Andraste's blessing."

"Maker preserve us," Cullen mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "Very well, you're dismissed to… spread the news."

The soldier saluted and ran off before Cullen could change his mind. 

_The Herald who has not woken._ Cullen repeated the messenger’s words in his mind. A strange sensation washed over him, which he assumed was simply relief. Relief that this ordeal was over for the moment and that no more lives would be lost. _And if she has saved us all, then she will surely become a martyr if she dies._

A pit opened in his gut at the thought of her dying, after all that. He shook his head and blamed his peculiar feelings on the withdrawal of lyrium or perhaps the anxiety of what would come next. Unsure, Cullen looked up - there was still a hole in the sky but the demons were no longer spawning and the Breach seemed stable. The worst was over, for the moment at least. 

As Cullen stared into the open void, he quietly hoped that she would survive, this Herald of Andraste… Elsie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Upload day for each chapter will be the 1st Thursday of the month. Your comments and kudos really keep me encouraged, so thank you!


	3. Elsie

> _My dear sister Elsie,_
> 
> _Firstly I want to apologise. I’ve spent such an awfully long time practising my penmanship skills (as my tutor insisted upon) and as such I was forbidden to reply to your last note until I had mastered the perfect flicks on my lettering. Well, what do you think?_
> 
> _I am thrilled to hear you’re going to be an Enchanter! I confess that I know very little of Circle hierarchy, but I assume that it’s a promotion of sorts? If so, then hurrah! You deserve it. You’ve always worked hard._
> 
> _I actually have news of my own. As you know, my studies at home are coming to an end (finally!) and I’ve been deciding what I want to do with my life. Lucetta and mother have always said I could stay at the estate and become a sensible gentlewoman and find a nice husband. Oh, but how dull! I’ve been humouring them for sure. Honestly Elsie - can you imagine me hosting tea parties and soirees?_
> 
> _No… so I’ve had somewhat of an epiphany, I think. I would like to say that I’ve always been a faithful follower of the Maker. So… I’m joining the Chantry. For mother, I think it’s the next best thing so she should be satisfied. But I’m not doing this for her, or even for myself. I truly want to help spread the Chant of Light and help those who aren’t as privileged as us. It doesn’t feel like the noble or honourable thing to do; just the right thing. That’s how I know it’s what I must do._

\- A letter from Cecelia Trevelyan to her eldest sister Elsie Trevelyan at the Ostwick Circle. 9:36 Dragon.

* * *

**3\. Elsie**

When Elsie awoke the morning after the official forming of the Inquisition, she sat up in bed, felt her head hammer with an awful hangover and flopped back down on the feather mattress, pulling the covers over her head. _I never should’ve let Varric Tethras buy me drinks all night_ , she thought miserably. What made it worse was that whilst she had felt giddy and tipsy, Varric had been jolly and yet Solas - who had consumed just as much ale as the pair of them - had sat all composed with a sly smile on his face, as if he couldn’t feel the effects of alcohol. As such, Varric had continued to buy more rounds of drinks, just to see if the elf would waiver but Solas had only chuckled and drank away whilst maintaining his sober composure. Some of Elsie’s closest friends in the Circle had been elves and none of them had held their liquor particularly well at all. 

With a groan, Elsie rolled over, wrapping herself as tight as she could in her cocoon of blankets. _Thank the Maker we aren’t travelling today_ , she thought. Even thinking about the motion of riding on horseback was enough to make her feel - 

She gagged and shuddered, pushing all thoughts of motion out of her mind and instead tried to get comfortable again. After another wave of nausea crashed over her and she not-so-elegantly stumbled out of bed and retched in her chamber pot, did she collapse into an almost comatose state on the bed. _Oh, if only my noble family could see me now…_

Suddenly she sobered and sat up, her breath catching. Family. _Her_ family. Three out of the four Trevelyan daughters had attended the Conclave. All who had attended were dead, except for her. So her sisters - 

It was finally hitting her. Her sisters Cecelia and Evelyn were gone. Snuffed out in an instant and yet she remained, her alone. Thousands had died, yes, but to lose not one but _two_ of her sisters…

Elsie pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. It didn’t feel real and yet she had always been pragmatic and faced the facts. That's what her father had always loved about her - her pragmatism and ability to look at the wider picture, to think forward and not back. But how could she do that when two of her sisters were instantly killed and she was unable to remember a thing? _Not one damn thing!_ She cursed. Guilt clawed into her belly, pulling uneasily at her gut. Perhaps Cassandra had been right to have her in chains. Maybe she _had_ done something but couldn’t remember?

Idly, as she turned those thoughts over in her mind, she weaved a trickle of fire through her fingers, her movements as delicate as if she were playing keys on a piano forte. Elsie had always been the best at that instrument when they were children, despite the tough and sometimes bored exterior she exuded. The piano forte had been Elsie’s preferred instrument and before her magic had quickened, she and Evelyn would regularly hold small concerts to the servants in their home. Evelyn had been particularly talented with the lyre. But then Elsie remembered that Evelyn was dead and it didn’t matter how good a musician she had been. She was gone, and they had never truly got the chance to reconcile. 

A harsh rap at her cabin door intruded her dark thoughts and she absentmindedly said “enter”, even though she was still sat curled up on her bed in little more than a loose fitting shirt and breeches. 

The door to her cabin opened and a blast of cold air swept inside, but not enough to extinguish her flames tickling her fingers. Her visitor shut the door behind them and stomped their feet on the mat to brush the snow off. That’s when Elsie snapped her head up as the visitor was not someone she would’ve expected. 

The templar - well Commander now, apparently - was dusting his boots off and was not looking at her as he began to speak. 

“Herald; my apologies for the intrusion, but I’ve brought with me the latest reports from Corporal Vale-” he stopped abruptly when he finally came into the cabin fully. He stared at her and was transfixed at her control of the fire magic she was still weaving between her fingers.

A lick of anger flared in her stomach and her flames sparkled in response. So she snuffed them out with a wave of her hand. That little action earned her an ill-concealed flinch from the commander, and Elsie wasn’t sure if that was a small victory over him or not.

A thick silence fell between them until Elsie sighed and stood, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m not an arsonist, don’t worry,” she muttered, taking the papers from the commanders hand. 

He seemed to snap out of thoughts when she spoke. “I never said you were.”

Elsie snorted. “And yet you’re looking at me with your other hand on the hilt of your sword as if I’ve grown two heads... or about to turn into an abomination.”

He let go of his grip, as if scolded by fire and frowned at her. “Old habits die hard,” he eventually said but Elsie had turned away to read the reports. She continued to pretend to read until he took the hint. She heard him sigh and leave her cabin, closing the door behind him with a firm _thud_.

Elsie slouched her shoulders and stared back at the closed door. She had been short with him, but what was she supposed to do? Pretend to be fine with _him_ pretending not to be keeping an eye on her and her magic when he clearly was? Still, as she set the reports aside and looked around for her clothes, it had been rather unfair of her. She thought back to when he had escorted Cecelia to her, before the Conclave. If they had never found Elsie, then perhaps Cecelia would’ve stayed in Haven and avoided - 

_No_. Elsie shook herself. She couldn’t think of maybes, ifs, and what could've been. The Templar had been helping her sister. Surely she would’ve done the same in his place? And it’s not like he knew that there was going to be an explosion, killing thousands… 

* * *

After getting washed and dressed, Elsie braided her hair down her back and slung her old staff over her shoulder. As she stepped outside of her cabin into the crisp midday sun, she turned her eyes upwards towards the Breach and exhaled slowly. The mark on her hand had flared a little, but had also been stable since their attempt to close the hole in the sky. But it hadn’t been enough and she needed more. The Inquisition needed more. 

Putting one foot in front of the other, Elsie made her way through the village, pushing aside all thoughts of the daunting challenge ahead and how it felt like she was tiptoeing on a precipice of change, of something bigger than themselves. 

“Dimples!” 

Elsie looked up to see Varric waving her over near the Chantry. Cassandra stood with him as well as - _oh perfect_ , she thought. _The Commander_. 

“Finally joined the world of the living?” Varric said lightly. She could feel the Commander’s judgemental gaze on her, but decided to not even acknowledge his presence and focused her attention on Varric.

“I see you’re chirpier than usual, even though you drank just as much,” she replied with a frown. 

The dwarf chuckled. “Now, now, you only _think_ I drank as much as you and Chuckles. It’s one of my many talents.” 

“And is one of your so-called ‘talents’ to also be a smug know-it-all?” Elsie retorted, using her hands to exaggerate her point. She heard something like a snort come out of Cassandra. _Was that a suppressed giggle? Surely not…_

“Why Dimples; I pride myself on it,” Varric grinned and Elsie couldn’t help but smile back and shake her head. 

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Must you give ridiculous nicknames to everybody, Varric?” 

Cullen finally spoke. “Yes, I was wondering the same thing. And why ‘Dimples’ for the Herald?” 

Varric pointed at her, making Elsie’s face flush involuntary as they all looked at her. “Because surely you’ve noticed Curly, that when our beloved Herald smiles, she has dimples on her cheeks.” 

Elsie finally looked at the Commander and took her opportunity to have a little fun. Without missing a beat she deadpanned: “And those aren’t my only dimples either, Commander; but not many people have been lucky enough to see _those_.” 

To her great satisfaction the burly and stoic Commander’s cheeks reddened and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, whilst Varric burst into booming laughter and Cassandra smirked.

“Ha! She got you there, Curly!” 

Elsie didn’t take her eyes off Cullen. Oh, what she would do to be in his head right now to know what he was thinking. “So, Curly is it?” 

He refused to meet her gaze. “No.” 

Varric pointed to Cullen’s hair, which was a warm golden blonde with a slight wave. “His hair used to be curly, back in Kirkwall.” 

Elsie froze. _Kirkwall_? She thought, her gut twisting.

“The Commander spends more time on his hair than any of us ladies,” a new voice said from behind them. The serious Spymaster Leliana had stealthily approached and even she had a small smile on her face. “Isn’t that right, Cullen?”

The commander stuttered before dismissing himself and headed into the Chantry. Varric laughed again and Elsie plastered on a good-natured smile. _Kirkwall eh?_ She thought. _That’s something I need to pick up later._

* * *

Later that day, after the final arrangements were made to ready their departure to the Hinterlands, Elsie entered Ambassador Montilyet’s office, following a request for a meeting. With a sinking heart, Elsie knew this was going to be about her family and had already put off meeting Josephine twice already.

She pushed open the office door to find the Ambassador talking with - 

_Oh perfect. Again?_

Commander Cullen looked up at the same time as Ambassador Montilyet. He frowned at her, making her insides lick irritably. It seemed that her little flirtatious joke hadn’t been as warmly received as she had hoped. And yet he was always so cold and impassive; maybe seeing a disapproving or even mildly angry side of him would be more interesting, even if just to convince her he was actually human, capable of some sort of emotion. 

“Ah, Lady Trevelyan,” Josephine said, clearly missing the glare they were sharing or choosing to ignore it. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was just reiterating to Cullen the importance of securing more noble allies.” 

“So they can clog up the village and come crying when their satin shoes get spoilt?” Cullen scoffed. “We need more troops, not some spoilt arsehole who’s had everything given to them on a golden platter.” 

_Oh, he really is just asking to be vexed, isn’t he?_ Elsie forced a smile. 

“Normally I would be inclined to agree with you, Commander,” she said, and he blinked in surprise but it soon turned to a frown as Elsie continued. “We aren’t all silk slippers and dainty cakes. What a wide assumption you make of nobility; especially when you - a templar - are so quick to stop rash assumptions of yourself.” 

They stared at one another, the air thick with unsaid arguments and tension like earlier that morning.

“What do you mean ‘we’?” he said slowly. “You’re a mage from a Circle, I thought.”

Elsie bristled. “Yes, and I lost all rank and respect when I was forced _into_ the Circle.”

Josephine cut in, sensing a heated argument on the verge of disrupting her calm office. “Lady Elsie is the eldest of the Trevelyan daughters, and was-”

“Was heir, until it was all taken from me: because I’m a mage.” 

Another silence, thick and heavy filled the room. Commander Cullen regarded her coolly, his eyes dark with anger and something else, she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Finally he inclined his head. “I’ll leave you to your meeting, Lady Ambassador. Lady Trevelyan,” he said stiffly. 

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, Elsie let out a breath and exchanged a look with Josephine. 

“What an infuriating man,” Elsie muttered. “He does it on purpose,” she continued, taking a seat opposite Josephine. 

Josephine’s eyebrows shot up. “What makes you say that?”

Elsie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I barely know the man, but he baits me at almost every chance he gets. And I can’t help but get riled up.” 

“Try not to worry, Herald. Just let him do his job and he will let you do yours.”

Elsie shook her head. “I don’t think it’s possible. As a templar, he can’t help but watch mages. Oh yes, he may say he isn’t one anymore, but just because I’m no longer in a Circle, doesn’t mean I’m no longer a mage.”

Josephine shifted. “What you said to Cullen, about you being the Trevelyan heir… well I think we can use that fact to our advantage.” 

Elsie didn’t comment on Josephine’s excellent diversion in conversation to get on to the matter at hand. She looked at the Antivian with renewed respect. 

“I was disinherited, my lady. There may no longer be Circles, but there is no chance of my position in my family being restored. Nor would I want it to: I couldn’t do that to my sister Lucetta, when she is on the cusp of taking over from my father.” 

Josephine smiled. “That is a noble gesture indeed, but you are right, there is little chance of you being restored to your former position.” She spread her hands. “That being said, now that you are the Herald of Andraste, your situation is somewhat unique, and the Trevelyan name does carry some weight, even in Orlais. If you are happy, I would like to freely distribute your family name when spreading the word of the Herald of Andraste.” 

She nodded. “Of course. Whatever I can do to help.” 

The ambassador made a mark on her ledger. “And your family: would they be satisfied if we were to contact them? Would they help our cause?” 

Elsie smiled humorlessly. “My father loves politics and my mother loves to gossip and both are as devoted to the Chantry as the other. I can’t see it being a problem at all.” _Indeed, Mother may even forget the shame I brought to the family as a mage_ , Elsie added silently. _Well, probably not, but maybe she won’t pretend I’m dead anymore._

Josephine sensed something left unsaid and looked at her kindly. “Would you like me to write a letter to your parents? It can come from me, or I can ghostwrite one for you…?”

She smiled with relief. “That would be appreciated, Lady Ambassador. I’m sure you can say things more… _eloquently_ than I could ever hope to.”

“You’re too kind, my lady,” Josephine smiled warmly. “I will have a draft letter drawn up today for you to review and sign before you leave for the Hinterlands in the morning”.

-

The rest of the day was spent preparing for her departure from Haven. She had been used to travelling light from her time as an apostate following the fall of the Circles, so had little to pack in the first place. However, as she looked around the cabin, she felt suffocated by the small space and the lack of freedom she had in the tiny village. Things had changed so considerably, that she just wanted to be herself again, if just for a moment. 

Elsie picked up her staff by the door of her cabin and pulled on her boots and a new thick coat which had been given to her for her journey. Outside, the light was beginning to fade and the evening was drawing ever closer. It was the perfect time to slip out of the village and head for a walk without being disturbed, as the soldiers and almost everyone else in the village halted in their activities and listened to the urgent growl of their hungry bellies. 

Since she had been in Haven, her appetite had dwindled. She had always been known as the girl with the hearty appetite back in the Circle, and her robes had clung to her quite tightly in places, but she had been happy and eating had been something to pass the time when there was little else to do sometimes. Now after a year of being on the run and having to work or hunt for her meals, her robes had begun to hang loosely and her new outfits courtesy of the Inquisition, were very different and also much smaller… and yet comfortable. She knew that she should eat more, especially in Haven, where food was thankfully plentiful for everyone, despite their remote location. The next few weeks would be different but even so, she couldn’t find it in herself to be hungry. Not when it was a feeling her sisters would feel again. 

_And they won’t feel anything. Because they're dead._

Elsie kept her head down and pulled up her hood and walked down to the edge of the lake, arms wrapped around herself. Already at the shore, the noisy bustle from the village grew distant, and as she continued to walk further away, it all but faded, so all she could hear was the crunch of her boots in the fresh snow, and the water lapping quietly. She slowed her pace once she was on the far side of the lake and for the first time in a very, very long time, she was totally alone. No one could see her and no one was watching her. 

She smiled bitterly. Oh, how she had longed for this solitude when she had been in the Circle. There had been a modest courtyard garden at the Ostwick Circle, but there was always someone else there. A templar, or a mage or a tranquil. You were never truly on your own in a Circle. And on the run she had always stuck with fellow apostates, as it really was strength in numbers. But now…

Finally Elsie came to a stop and looked across the lake. She may have been alone, but she still felt far from it. She didn't need to look up to know about the gaping hole in the sky. Especially when its eerie green hue was reflected in the otherwise calm waters of the lake. No matter where she went, Elsie knew that the Breach would follow her, like a giant eye boring down on her every move. 

But she paused at that thought and slowly lifted her head up to look straight into the Breach. Was the Maker there? Was that the reason why she felt this heavy presence ooze from the sky?? 

Perhaps she truly was the Herald of Andraste. _What a ridiculous notion_ , she thought. If anyone had any right to be the Herald of the Maker’s Bride, surely it would’ve been her innocent and pious sister, Cecelia?

 _Cecelia_. Her lovely round face, dotted with freckles and her bucktooth smile filled Elsie’s mind and she let out an involuntary sob that startled her. Cecelia, whose life was just beginning, was dead. And was it her fault? Why had Cecelia - sweet and innocent Cecelia - died, and she survived? 

_And Evelyn_. Evie, her templar sister. She had also been a faithful woman, bounding herself to the Maker by joining the Templars. And yet her life had been snuffed out too. Evie, with her strong jaw, her cropped hair and her rare smile. She had possessed an intelligence and wit that many underappreciated or took for granted. Their relationship had been strained due to the war, but blood was still blood, and sisterhood was a bond stronger than one could describe. 

Tears were streaming down her face now and Elsie clenched her fists, glaring at the Breach. How dare the Maker take their lives from the world. In a world already dark and foreboding, why had He designed to snatch their lives away? The pair of them were worth more to the faith than Elsie by far. And yet here she stood. The lone survivor. The Herald of Andraste. 

Her anger flared, her clenched fists shook and without warning her fingers began to tingle and fire licked her hands and forearms. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t just. 

Elsie screamed in rage and fell to her knees in the snow. The fire at her fingertips hissed as they were extinguished. Her body wracked in sobs and her chest heaved, struggling for breath as the reality of her loss, of her survival, of her burden, became a harsh and brutal reality for her. 

She may not have believed she was the Herald of Andraste, but as she looked over towards the village of Haven, where the Inquisition banners flapped in the wind, she realised that all of those people _did_ believe she was sent to save them all. That she had survived for a reason. And yet she did not have a clue what to do. 

When the tears on her cheeks and dried and the cold air was sharp in her lungs, her breathing steadied and she slowly rose to her feet. Elsie dusted the snow off her breeches and inspected her gloves which were a little singed. She brushed the hair out of her eyes that had come loose from her braid and slowly made her way back to the village.

A shiver down her spine made her look up in the evening light and she stopped in her tracks when she saw that she was no longer as alone as she had initially thought.

Commander Cullen stood on his own, looking right at her, with his sword half drawn. The steel caught the green light of the Breach and Elsie’s gut twisted at the sight of him and his stance. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he had been a templar of some authority, and all at once she felt like a shy apprentice, closing in on herself. 

But she was so exhausted that she couldn’t even begin to want to fight with him again, or tease him. A wave of cold washed over her as he simply looked at her; his face, as always, an unreadable mask. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to pretend they hadn’t seen each other.

Instead, she walked towards him, never once breaking eye contact, before stopping when they were level with one another and did something that surprised even her. Elsie placed a hand on his arm. 

She meant to say something - anything - but no words came to mind. Perhaps she was offering some prospect of peace between them. But as her hand rested just a little longer on his arm, she felt the heat of him. She needed a human touch to not feel so alone and for one ridiculous moment she had wanted to fall into his arms. A funny thought crossed her tired mind that he would probably be a good hugger. He smelt... comforting. Elderflower. Oakmoss. And it startled Elsie that she felt his presence could be to not just foreboding but also a little comforting. She wanted to say more, she wanted to lean in, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure which thought scared her the most. 

Elsie dropped her hand and left Cullen staring after her. But he did not say a word, nor did he follow. Something in Elsie’s gut twisted again, and it terrified her. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... the world has certainly changed since my last chapter, hasn't it? I hope all of you in self-isolation are doing well! I've been working from home but my work has dwindled, so back to writing! Next chapter may be up sooner to help entertain you, if you like! But do let me know and I'll work to finish it off sooner. Otherwise, expect an update as usual on the 1st Thursday of May. :) Take care!


	4. Cullen

_ Knight-Captain Cullen,  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Please convey my thanks and gratitude to Knight-Commander Meredith for agreeing to my transfer back to the Ostwick Circle. I appreciate the situation is somewhat delicate in Kirkwall at the moment, but the work I do with the influence of my family for the Order is of better use in my home city.  _

_ I pray the tensions ease in the Gallows, although now I have returned to Ostwick I have had a chance to reflect and so I simply must say this: I implore you, Knight-Captain, to consider if your morals are worth forsaking for the Knight-Commander’s ethics and methods. Remember our vows. _

_ Should you find yourself in Ostwick, don’t be a stranger.  _

_ May the Maker guide you, _ _   
_ _ Lieutenant Evie Trevelyan, Ostwick Circle  _ _   
_ \- A crumpled letter found in Knight-Captain Cullen’s personal journal

* * *

**4\. Cullen**

He couldn’t help but watch her. 

Even when she wasn’t around, he was always peering over his shoulder, sometimes to just see a glimpse of her: and it was starting to drive him mad.

That evening, before he had retired to his tent, he had felt a strange compulsion to walk down to the edge of the lake. He had skipped dinner, as a migraine was threatening to appear, and the thought of making polite conversation with soldiers and strangers in the bustle of the Chantry was enough to make him feel nauseous. Instead, he had decided to perhaps do some training on a straw dummy, or maybe sharpen his blade - anything to keep his hands busy and his thoughts distracted. 

But his feet had taken him to the quiet edge of the lake, the waters glistened with an eerie green glow, which made it hard to forget the Breach above his head. So, as he had done many times as a child, he crouched down and examined the stones on the shoreline, looking for the sleekest of pebbles. He ran this thumb over a couple before selecting a handful which appeared to be narrow in width but heavy enough to carry a small weight. 

Straightening up, he tossed a stone in the air and deftly caught it to test the weight. He switched stones and continued the same routine with his selection. Finally, he leaned back, positioned his feet apart in the perfect stance to skim. He drew his arm back and flicked and-

_ Thunk _ .

It didn’t even skim once.  _ Well, it has been a long time _ , he admitted with a wry smile. Cullen continued to fail miserably until his seventh stone (not that he was counting) successfully skimmed the water not once but three times. He felt his chest puff with an odd sense of pride. He held another pebble ready, with the aim to beat his new record, but something in the distance caught his eye and he paused. 

On the other side of the lake, a lone figure was stood staring up at the Breach. Alarmed, Cullen saw their fists clenched with fire, and he dropped his stones with a clatter and reached for his sword at his hip. A piercing chill cut through him as the figure screamed, in what appeared to be rage. He started moving towards them but hesitated when the person dropped to their knees and was… sobbing? 

Cullen felt unease seep through him as he watched, and was unsure how to proceed, as it was clear he was witnessing something very private. Perhaps this person was a family member of someone who had perished at the conclave, or maybe they had come to join the Inquisition-

His trail of thought stopped abruptly as the person started to walk towards him, their head down, and it hit him that he knew who it now was. The clothes she wore and the green flicker of light on her left hand made it unmistakably the Herald. Cullen went to sheathe his sword but paused when she finally looked up at him and stopped in her tracks, their eyes meeting. Something tugged in his gut as he looked over her - grey eyes misty and red-rimmed from crying, her hair falling in loose out of its braid and her lips…

_ Maker, why am I looking at her lips? _ He scolded himself but found he couldn't look away, particularly as he noticed that they were slightly puckered and rather red. He wondered if they were as soft as they looked. 

Cullen cleared his throat and reassessed: she was a mage who had been off on her own, plus she was the Herald and also a noble as well, apparently. Even one of those reasons warranted why she should not have been on her own and yet, as he opened his mouth to berate her as such with anger he wasn’t sure was directed at her or himself for thinking such alarming thoughts; his words died on his tongue as she closed the distance between them and gently placed a gloved hand on his arm. 

At first, he thought she had cast a spell on him, as heat bloomed on his arm beneath her touch, and it appeared to spread all over him. But as he looked down at her and her expressionless face, he realised that there was truly no motive here. No argument, no teasing, just a gentle gesture and the air thick between them. He should’ve been angry but he found he couldn’t muster to even be annoyed when she was looking at him so steadily and was transfixed in response to her touch.

All too soon, she pulled her hand away and left him standing there.  _ What are you doing, man? _ He scolded himself.  _ You’re acting like you’re wet behind the ears with an infatuation from a woman’s touch!  _

But his thoughts sobered when he realised that she had touched the arm that was still gripping his half-sheathed sword. He sighed and ran a hand down his face.  _ She probably just thought I was being my usual templar self _ , he thought.  _ And was she wrong? _

As he looked up at the Breach, he wondered what I caused her to be so - 

_ Sister Cecelia. _

Of course. The Herald had lost her young sister, of whom he had been fortunate enough to meet before… well before she died. He tried to recall that morning but the memory was vague already - it had only been a week or so since the explosion and yet it felt like a year. 

Guilt plagued Cullen as he turned towards Haven and watched the Herald enter the village gates and disappear behind the walls.  _ She is mourning _ , he thought.  _ Of course, she is. _ And yet no one had given her the time of day to even acknowledge that fact. Him, like everyone else, had forgotten that here was a person whose life had changed considerably, but still grieved and felt emotion like everyone else. 

Cullen exhaled deeply, his breath misting before him in the cold night air. The revelations of the Herald being a noble - Lady Trevelyan - were just - 

A chill went through him.  _ Trevelyan _ . He knew that name from somewhere… it sounded familiar, even though he knew next to nothing about Marcher nobility.

“Another sister,” he muttered… surely it couldn’t have been an old comrade, Lieutenant Evie Trevelyan? That would be too much of a coincidence. He made a mental note to ask the Lady Herald in the morning. But for now, he walked back to his tent, filled a small cup of ale and climbed into the narrow cot and read some reports by candlelight. He was quite confident that he had put all Trevelyans out of his mind, as he settled in for the night.

His dreams had other ideas, and as he slipped into the Fade, all he could see was Elsie Trevelyan’s face. 

* * *

The next morning, Cullen awoke an hour or so before dawn in the bitter cold. He gritted his teeth, willing his body to move from the warm cocoon of his blankets, as it was the perfect time to train. He allowed himself a moment’s more peace before forcing his body out of the cot, and quickly pulled on a shirt and breeches - the chill making his hairs stand on end and his teeth involuntarily chatter. It was something he did as part of his routine almost daily, for most of his life.  _ Does that still make me a Templar? _ He thought, recalling the Herald’s words about how she was still a mage, despite the end of the Circles. He had dismissed and left the Order, but so much of his life, his routine, his habits and attitudes had hardly changed, even in these exceptional circumstances. 

Grimacing at such deep thoughts when it was far too early in the morning, Cullen stomped outside of his tent after strapping on his belt and hanging his sword on his hip. He peered up at the sky, noting that he had plenty of time to practice before everyone else awoke and began their day. Soon enough he was taking himself through his regular drills and the morning cold was all but forgotten with a healthy sweat on his brown and dampening his shirt. He continued to push his body, his mind blank, almost in a meditative state as he forced himself to try and feel as strong as he could and prove to himself that he was just as good a warrior without the lyrium: that he was worthy and still good at what he did. 

As he hit a straw dummy for the final time, he halted, panting and rested the palms of his hands on his knees, catching his breath. It had been enjoyable torture and he was never easy on himself, but he always felt infinitely better, even with his muscles screaming and his lungs gulping for air like a drowning man. He picked up his swords and inspected the blade idly as he continued to slow his heart rate, the orange glow of the rising sun bouncing off the blade. 

“Damn demons,” he muttered to himself, running a finger down one edge. To his agitation, the blade was already blunted from fighting so many demons after the explosion. As he sheathed his sword, he made a mental note to visit Harritt later that day. He returned to his tent and washed from the pitcher of water on his nightstand, rinsing off the sweat. He rubbed a towel through his hair and dressed in his armour before heading out into the village that was barely waking up. 

Scouts through the night would have left reports for him in the War Room, and he liked to look at those before he did anything else; just in case there were any urgent developments overnight. Besides, the Lady Herald along with Seeker Cassandra were due to leave in a few short hours, so he wanted to make sure all final preparations had been made.  _ Not that I particularly want to see her _ , he told himself firmly. 

However, as he skimmed the reports in the empty Warm Room, he found his mind wandering again. He had begun to realise that he had seen Lady Trevelyan at a very vulnerable and private moment which was none of his - nor anyone’s - business. And yet he couldn’t explain why he felt like he wanted it to be part of his business. He  _ wanted _ to know her as a person and not some noble figurehead, even if she was a mage. 

His thoughts once again turned to her younger sister, Cecelia. She had reminded him of his sister Rosalie who was around the same age. Not that Cullen knew much about his siblings anymore, save what they occasionally wrote to him about in their unanswered letters to him. Branson and Rosalie had given up trying to write to him after his silence in return and appeared to have taken the hint. They had been young children when he had left to join the Templars and probably had little memories of him. 

But Mia - stubborn like himself - had persisted. And perhaps it was finally time to write her another letter, to warn her and his siblings of the Breach and to be wary of any rifts appearing in South Reach. He was lucky that all of his siblings were alive and well, unlike the Herald, who had just lost two sisters, as well as all of those who had perished at the Conclave. They had all been someone's son or daughter, sister, brother, mother, father… 

Cullen ran a hand through his hair and tried not to dwell too much, lest he lose himself in it. So he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, dipped his quill into an open inkpot and began to write: 

_ Dear Mia,  _

_ Things have changed considerably since my last letter, with the official forming of the Inquisition here in Haven, we are at the mercy of the Herald of Andraste herself - a mage and a noblewoman from the Free Marshes. There is little for me to say of her except that our working relationship has already been strained due to an abundance of conflicting views. Nevertheless, I believe in the Inquisition and my time here is busy preparing our growing army ready for Maker only knows what. I won’t bore you with those granular details.  _

_ I realise this letter is possibly somewhat of a shock for you, considering it is so soon after the last, and this is an essay compared to what I usually send you. All I can say is that I’m grateful you and our brother and sister are nowhere near Haven.  _

_ That being said, there are plenty of reports coming in of rifts appearing all over Ferelden and most of Southern Thedas. I implore you - if a rift is seen in South Reach, please keep everyone away - including Branson - and send word to me immediately.  _

_ Take care, all of you, and pass on my regards to Branson and Rosalie.  _

_ Your brother, _

_ Cullen _

There were a million other things he wanted to say to Mia and now he longed to write more to each of his siblings… but the Chantry bells peeled to indicate the hour, so Cullen folded up his letter and pocketed it: he hoped one of Leliana’s swiftest birds could deliver it for him.

Cullen left the War Room with some reports in his hand and headed back down through the village. Many were stirring now, and he walked briskly to ensure he wasn’t intercepted with idle chatter and miss the Herald’s departure. Fires were being lit, and servants scurried around fetching water and firewood. A delicious smell of bread was coming from the kitchen and his stomach rumbled. He quickened his pace keen to wave them off and head to breakfast; that was if they hadn’t already left. 

He need not have worried, for when he approached the stables, only Cassandra was there, fully dressed in her Seeker armour, her back to him. He followed her line of sight and saw her watching two figures in the sparring ring. As he shielded his eyes from the morning sun, he squinted at the figures and recognised them. 

“Is that... ?” he began.

Cassandra nodded beside him. “The Herald is training with the elven apostate, Solas.”

A trickle of unease crept down his back as he stood and watched with Cassandra. The pair of mages used long sticks instead of their staffs - not too dissimilar to wooden training swords. Solas held his stick with his left hand, his feet apart in a good stance. Cullen couldn’t hear what he said, but Solas appeared to instruct the Herald, as the elf demonstrated a feinting move. Cullen’s eyes were drawn to Trevelyan and he sucked in a breath as she turned, imitating Solas. Her face was flushed with the cold mountain air and there was a look of deep concentration as she listened to the apostate’s advice - a small frown on her brow and a nibble on her lower lip, he couldn’t help but notice. They then began to spar in earnest: their sticks twirled with no magic as they remained focused entirely upon their technique of movement in a fight. The two mages moved well together, and Cullen felt that peculiar pull in his gut -  _ fear _ ? He wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t help but continue to watch them spar and he observed that Solas’s eyes never left the Herald’s face. She, on the other hand, concentrated on her footwork; eventually outstepped Solas, whacked him on the shins then behind the knees, causing the elf to lose his balance and fall on the hard ground. The Herald’s staff was pointed at Solas’ neck and a brief look of triumph crossed her face.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Cassandra said, making Cullen jump. He had forgotten she was standing with him. 

“Hmm?” he made a non-committal response as he watched Trevelyan stretch out a hand to help Solas to his feet.

“You have nothing to worry about, Cullen,” she continued. “I will be keeping a close eye on each of them - especially when they are together as such.” 

Cullen nodded, but the twinge of unease didn’t abate. “I know you will Cassandra,” he replied evenly. Although the Herald’s magic was only one small part of what he had been thinking: the rest was a completely frightening feeling he was not familiar with, nor ready to admit what it was to himself, let alone Cassandra.

“You’re always watching, aren’t you?” a new voice called, and Cullen’s stomach lurched as Lady Trevelyan herself and Solas walked over to him with Solas. He was unsure of how to answer her.  _ Yes, _ he wanted to say,  _ but not for all the reasons you think. _

Thankfully Cassandra interjected. “Can you blame us? We aren’t mages ourselves but are still drawn to magic and its uses. It was part of our livelihoods respectively before all of this.”

Cullen looked anywhere other than the Herald, but he could feel her eyes on him and he didn’t know if that made him uncomfortable or quietly pleased. 

“I suppose you’re right,” the Herald sighed. “But even so. I would appreciate it,  _ Commander _ , if you could please stop watching my every move like I’m one of your charges,” she said wearily, rubbing her forehead. 

Her words had struck a little too close to home - it eerily reminded him of when he had been infatuated with one of his charges as a new recruit, over ten years ago. Clenching his fists, Cullen glanced over his shoulder at the stables. “Well then, you  _ will _ be pleased to know that I won’t be joining you on your ramble through the Ferelden countryside,” he replied flatly. “And it seems your horses are now ready for your departure.” He started to walk back towards the stables with Solas and Cassandra following him. Leliana and Josephine were also at the stables, waiting to wave off the party. 

He pulled out his reports and passed them to Cassandra as she mounted her horse. “If the roads are clear, it should take you around five days to reach the outskirts of the Hinterlands,” Cullen said. “Corporal Vale departed yesterday and should be a day’s ride ahead of you and will leave signals if there any dangers to be aware of along your route.”

Cassandra thanked him, but her attention was diverted to behind Cullen, where the Herald had mounted her horse in silence and the mare had skitted, unaccustomed to her new rider. 

“Woah girl, easy,” she cooed in an attempt to soothe the horse. 

Cullen strode forward and took the reigns in his hands before patting the mare down and hushing her. “You can’t show her you’re afraid,” he said honestly, hoping his willingness to assist would be seen as a small token of peace between them. 

But instead, the Herald frowned down at him. “I know that thank you very much, Commander,” she said tartly. 

“I understand the horse is the mascot of House Trevelyan, is it not?” Leliana said suddenly.

The Ambassador nodded and Lady Trevelyan inclined her head. “You’re right. My ancestors were one of the first humans to breed and sell fine horses for profit: they started the whole trade of horse dealerships in Southern Thedas.” There was a note of pride in the Herald’s voice, and Cullen tried his best not to roll his eyes.  _ Her family invented trading horses? Not bloody likely. Maker’s breath, what drivel has she been fed as a noble growing up! _ He glanced at Cassandra who appeared to be containing herself too. 

“I understand that’s how your family came into nobility,” Josephine said with a smile. 

As The Herald nodded, Cullen couldn't help but interject. “Well if that’s the case, then you should know how to handle a horse better than anyone,” he said sarcastically. 

“Well perhaps  _ you _ should mind your own business,” she retorted, snatching the resigns out of his hands. 

Cullen clenched his jaw. “And  _ you _ should know when to accept help when offered, no matter how unwillingly,” he ground out. How was it, just the night before he had found himself noticing... other things about her? How in the world could he even think this was the start of an ill-advised infatuation when he enraged her so, and vice versa? 

Before the Herald could reply, Cassandra rode past them. “Let us depart, Lady Herald - the road is a long one.”

“Indeed,” Solas said, following the Seeker. “It would be good to cover as much ground in the daylight as possible.” 

Another, croaky voice joined in. “Let’s just get this over with,” a bleary-eyed Varric grumbled from his pony.

The Herald paused and looked back at Cullen. “Just tell me one thing, Commander…” He nodded for her to continue. She cocked her head to the side. “Do you not trust me?” 

Cullen sucked in a breath. It was a heavy question, thick with hidden accusations. He searched his mind for an answer that would satisfy, but he was far too slow.

“That’s what I thought,” she said flatly and an unexpected look of disappointment crossed her face.  _ At me or herself? _ He wondered. She dug in her heels and set off at a canter to catch up with the rest of the group.

“Maker preserve you!” Leliana called, and offered a small wave to the group. 

As he watched her ride away, Josephine tutted from beside him. “Goodness, what is going on with you and the Lady Herald?” 

Still looking at the retreating back of Elsie Trevelyan, his mouth felt dry as he replied “A mutual sense of loathing.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter this time, but hey, Cullen's head it a messy little place! Also, I realise not much happens here but watch this space.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed (and liked picturing Cullen working out in tight breeches and a sweaty shirt? You're welcome). Your comments are adored. Please let me know what you think!  
> Hope you're all keeping safe in these Covid times: don't let Miss Rona get you down!


	5. Elsie

> _...so I met the Herald of Andraste this morning. She’s already becoming pretty famous around these parts but after meeting her, I was struck by how normal she was. A woman just shy of thirty, and a mage. I watched as she helped drive away the apostates and rogue templars from the Crossroads and I was impressed. Her magic is scary, like all mages, but from the little I know of the art I could see that she had immense control and I felt like I was witnessing something special to see her wield it. I know that contradicts what I said about her being normal. Maybe that’s why people like her already - myself included.  _

  * > Part of a letter sent by Scout Lace Harding to her mother




* * *

**5\. Elsie**

Although horse riding was in her blood and she had been on horseback more in the past year than most of her life put together; Elsie was still desperately out of practice, especially when travelling roads she didn't know with a mare who was almost as stubborn as she was. By the time they had made camp that first evening on their journey, Elsie was no closer to getting on with her horse who had the most ridiculous name of Buttercup. Normally such a name would not offend her, but Buttercup was so unlike her namesake in both looks and temperament that Elsie couldn’t help but resent it. 

Perhaps she was projecting her bubbling anger unknowingly on the poor mare. For most of the day, Elsie’s thoughts had been consumed with that of Commander Cullen. Cold, calculated, emotionless ex-templar, she thought bitterly as she set up her tent by a stream with the others. 

“I think I’m going to pitch my tent away from the Herald,” Varric said with a wink. “She looks like she’s about to set something on fire, and I’m rather fond of my chest hair.” 

Elsie rolled her eyes but managed a smile. “I’m sorry, I’m just-”

“Brooding?” Varric interjected.

She frowned at him. “I wasn’t brooding,” she muttered.

Varric laughed. “Believe me Dimples, I know brooding when I see it. I learnt from the expert also known as Fenris.” 

Elsie didn’t reply and continued to pitch her tent in silence but tried to act more calmly. She was annoyed with the Commander and frustrated about how they had left things: she would much rather resolve the conflict upfront than sit and stew, which she had done for most of the day. Also, considering he had stayed in Haven, his obvious resentment towards her would no doubt be exacerbated by her absence, especially as she was not there to defend herself. 

She heaved a sigh and instead turned back to Varric who was now reclining on a blanket outside of his tent.

“You’re from Kirkwall, right Varric?” she asked slowly, taking a seat on a log near him. 

“Well if that’s not a loaded question, I don’t know what is,” he chuckled. “Out with it Dimples - you know I’m from Kirkwall...for better or worse.”

Elsie spread her hands as she searched for the right words. “Alright - Commander Cullen was from Kirkwall too, yes? Did you know him? Was he part of the mage uprising?” 

Varric looked at her closely before shaking his head. “Alright, I’ll tell you Herald… but you’re not going to like it.”

* * *

The ride the next day was even more subdued as Elsie mulled over everything Varric had told her. Oh, like many apostates she had read his ‘Tales of the Champion’, whilst on the run, with the desire to know more about the mage couple who had started the rebellion. Her sister Evelyn had even been stationed at the Gallows before the trouble really started and had once mentioned in passing that she had met the Champion. Not for the first time, Elsie wished she could speak to her sister again, to ask her if she knew Cullen - surely their paths would’ve crossed on occasion, especially if he had been a commanding officer? She made a mental note to ask him about Evelyn once they were on better speaking terms… if that were to happen.

“So the Commander of the Inquisition just… turned a blind eye? Let things escalate and did nothing?” Elsie asked Varric that following evening. 

Varric blinked at the sudden change in subject but recovered quickly. “I suppose that’s something you would need to ask him yourself. But he stood up against Meredith with us in the end.”

“In the end,” Elsie repeated slowly. “Some of what I’ve heard from mages who escaped the Gallows-”

“Are exaggerations, no doubt,” Cassandra interrupted, walking past them on her way to her tent. She looked down at them, her hands on her hips. “None of us were truly there in the Gallows or in the ranks. A Templar doesn’t question orders - that’s what makes them excellent soldiers.” 

“But people died because he chose to look the other way!” Elsie replied heatedly, getting to her feet. She had been sitting and stewing on this fact for most of the day, and could feel her hands shaking.

“I think he knows that, Dimples,” Varric said quietly. 

“Indeed,” Cassandra continued. “What matters now is that he made the right choices and was invaluable with the relief efforts in Kirkwall. That’s what I saw when I sought to recruit him - a brilliant soldier and swordsman, unafraid to admit he was wrong and more than willing to atone.” With that, Cassandra retreated into her tent without another word. 

Varric and Elsie lapsed into a companionable silence, and the dwarf plucked at his crossbow idly whilst staring into the campfire, his mind obviously back in Kirkwall or someplace. Elsie thought over Cassandra’s words and offered a small smile to Solas who sat down opposite her and pulled out a book. She watched the elf set his staff down carefully on the ground by his feet and flick open a couple of pages before finding his place where he had left off. A prickle of magic she was now becoming familiar with and Elsie knew that Solas had just returned from setting wards around their little camp. She felt his soft magic flow silently around them and that’s when she remembered something that she had been sitting on since her talk with Varricc the previous evening.

She peered over her shoulder at Cassandra’s tent before leaning in closer to Varric, her voice low. “Can I ask you something?” 

“You already have, but I guess you have another question?” he grinned, and Elsie gave him a gentle swat on the arm in response. 

“Just something you said about Commander Cullen yesterday that’s been on my mind… does he really not see mages as people?” her mouth felt dry as she asked and Solas looked up from the book he was reading. 

Varric’s good and contemplative mood evaporated and he looked down at his feet, rubbing his chin as he decided how to answer. 

“You don’t forget something like that,” he admitted slowly. “But Curly  _ has  _ changed an awful lot since then; you would have to ask him yourself.” 

Elsie rolled her eyes. “Sure, because we are  _ such  _ good friends.” 

“Perhaps we need to give Cullen the benefit of the doubt,” Solas said, ever calm. “It’s the least we can do if we don’t want him to judge us as much as we are apparently judging him.” 

She noted the quiet rebuke but didn’t comment on it. “I just feel like he’s watching us all the time - like when we were training before we left Haven.” 

“With all due respect Elsie, it wasn’t me he was staring at,” Solas said, a wry smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. 

“Oh really?” Varric said eagerly, threading his fingers together. “Do tell me more. Would you say he was ‘enraptured’? Besotted?”

Heat coursed through Elsie. “Really Varric,” she shook her head. 

Varric ignored her. “Is the Commander Templar pining for the Herald mage I wonder? Opposites do attract after all.”

Elsie crossed her arms and regarded him coolly, hoping her warm cheeks didn’t give her away. “The journey must be making you weary for you are delusional,” she said calmly, although her gut twisted at the thought of him watching her as a person, as a woman, and not because she was a mage. “Besides, I don’t think the Commander could manage friendship with a mage, let alone be intimate with one.” 

“Who said anything about intimacy?” Varric grinned, and Elsie wanted to put her fist in her mouth. She looked over at Solas for some support but the elf was smiling down at his book, refusing to meet her eye. 

“Come now Dimples! Curly isn’t exactly hard on the eyes now, is he?” 

_ He’s right about that _ , she admitted silently, thinking of his strong jaw and chiselled cheekbones. 

“Don’t forget the thrill of a forbidden romance,” the dwarf continued.

“What are you, a smutty romance writer?” she said, playing close attention to her gloves. 

“I have been known to dabble.”

“Maker’s balls,” she swore. “If you are quite finished, I’m going to bed before you say any more ridiculous nonsense and start naming children or some other hogwash,” she said, waving a hand. 

“That’s some pretty strong denial there,” Solas smiled.

Elsie glared at him. “Traitor,” she mumbled, hiding a smile as she got to her feet. “This conversation is over. Goodnight!” 

She strode to her tent, the sounds of the elf and the dwarf’s laughter following her. “Have pleasant dreams of Curly!” Varric called after her.

Oh, how she wished she could slam a tent flap shut. 

Needless to say, Elsie took a few moments to collect herself, although the taunting words of Varric and Solas rang in her ears. Cullen was a troubled, complicated man with a dark past and perhaps she had given him too little credit. And yet, as Elsie undressed and slipped into a simple nightdress, her hands lingered on her collarbone and her waist and she wondered what it would feel like if his breath tickled her neck and if it were his hands on her instead of her own - 

Abruptly, she snatched her hands away, as if scolded.  _ Maker, am I that desperate for comfort? _ So eager for the touch of another person that she would fantasise about a man she barely knew and antagonised her so?  _ Stupid handsome Commander _ , she thought. It was his fault being - as Varric had said - not so bad on the eyes. She wasn’t sure if that made her dislike him more or less. 

Despite her self-scolding, Elsie did dream of the Commander and as was typical of the Fade, it distorted the reality. She saw him as a Templar in Ostwick, walking the hallways she had known so well for many years. And in her dreams he was softer but strong, and pressed her quietly up against the library shelves, tucked away in secret corners, giving in to temptation.

A cold dip in the river the following morning chased all heated thoughts away, and as their journey continued, she sobered greatly as they faced demons and closed a rift which had already taken the lives of a small farming family. The next few days were much the same, which gave the small group a chance to practice working and fighting together. As they finally descended into the Hinterlands proper, Elsie was too full of simple wonder admiring the luscious green landscape to even complain about her saddle sores. The tall trees, the long grass and the tame fennecs were enough to calm her soul and soon all confusing thoughts of the Commander of the Inquisition had fled her mind. 

The beauty of the landscape was a sharp contrast to the bloodshed they soon encountered. 

The Crossroads were a mess. They left their horses to recover at the forward camp with Scout Harding and descended into the valley on foot. As the screams and shouts became louder, Elsie exchanged a worried glance with Cassandra, who nodded grimly and drew her sword. They rounded the corner and saw the scuffle between Inquisition soldiers, Templars and mages; so the foursome prepared themselves as they had practiced: Solas set a ward over them all, Varric slung Bianca from over his shoulder and Cassandra braced in a warrior pose whilst flames licked Elsie’s fingers. 

Despite their plans to not fight them, both the Templars and apostates refused to listen. Elsie wrapped her flames around a Templar who boiled in his metal armour screaming in agony. She then felt a dreaded tingle of blood magic from behind her and spun on her heel, twirled her staff and shot a fireball at an apostate before they could finish summoning a demon. Their robes were set alight and the blood mage screamed in both pain and frustration as she summoned an ice cloud over her to douse the flames. However, she was too slow as Cassandra skidded on her knees past Elsie and lunged upwards with her sword to dig her weapon into the mage’s gut. 

She spluttered blood from her mouth, her eyes wide, before she grinned sadistically at Cassandra. In a pool of blood and magic, the mage transformed into a hideous abomination and Elsie shuddered involuntarily as it screeched at them. It swung its huge, unnatural arms down at Cassandra, who quickly blocked with her shield, but she was too slow, and the abomination ripped it away from her arm, causing the Seeker to cry out in pain with what Elsie quickly summarised was likely a broken wrist.

Instinct took over and Elsie summoned fire to wrap around the abomination as she ran forward and reached behind her back to grab her dagger. As her flames distracted the creature, she lunged up with her sharp blade and slashed its throat. It screeched in agony, but the cut wasn’t deep enough to be fatal. Elsie spun on her heel and swung her staff over her head, which was alight and burning with her magic. She went to strike again, aiming her dagger for the gut this time, but the abomination reached down and grabbed Elsie by the throat, dragging her off her feet. She dropped her dagger from her left hand and her staff from her right, and both fell to the cobbled ground with a clatter. She clawed desperately at the creature’s grossly malformed hands that were squeezing her throat, but her vision began to blur, even when the abomination leaned closer and whispered, with rotted breath ‘ _traitor’_. 

Elsie almost stopped struggling as she processed the word it had uttered. Fear groped her and she tried to gulp for air but its grip was strong - 

_ Shuck.  _

She fell to the ground, suddenly free and sucked in as much air as she could with large, rasping gasps. Confused, she pulled herself to her feet and peered over at the now still abomination. A crossbow bolt was embedded between its rolled, bloodshot eyes. She turned to see Varric give her a quick wink before he turned and helped Solas with the final stragglers. 

Cassandra stood leaning against a fence post, cradling her arm. “It’s over,” she said, looking around them. 

Elsie nodded, unable to summon her voice. She looked around and saw body after fallen body litter the ground. Almost all the deceased were rogue templars or apostates and yet she did not feel particularly relieved about that fact. She didn’t really feel much of anything and went over to heal Cassandra’s wrist with a flick of magic she barely had to think about. 

_ Traitor _

Rubbing her neck sore neck and shrugging off Cassandra’s thanks, Elsie walked between the bodies as Inquisition soldiers began to sort and pile them up. Cassandra and Varric followed her every move like her shadow, but Solas remained apart and went to help with the physicians and offer his healing magic. Elsie knew she needed to join him and offer her limited skill of healing, but for her at that moment, it was important for her to look down on the faces of the people who had died - the people she had killed. Faces of men and women, elves and people passed her by, but the body of a blonde elven mage in tattered Circle robes gave her pause. The elf’s eyes were open, her green gaze staring at nothingness. She had no markings on her face, save for the bruises and blood from the skirmish and her ashen hair was clumps of blood tangled in it. She had one lone earring in her right ear and the metal was worn, as if regularly rubbed. Elsie wondered if it had been given to her by her mother, or a friend or a lover?

“It is war,” Varric mumbled from beside her, as Elsie let out a ragged breath. She reached forward and closed the elf’s eyes, her skin already cold.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she replied bitterly. _How many did I kill today?_ She thought. _How many fellow mages? How many of my sister’s comrades?_

“Herald,” Cassandra said, crossing her arms. “Elsie?” she said quietly when Elsie looked up at her. “We should report to Corporal Vale-”

“No, not yet,” Elsie said, regaining her composure and turning her back on the dead elf. “I need to help heal the wounded and speak to Mother Giselle. The rest can wait.”

“But-”

Elsie strode on past the Seeker and headed towards Solas who was crouched by a row of stretchers. “By all mean go and see the Corporal - but I’ve got work to be getting on with,” and with that, Elsie knelt down next to Solas and downed a lyrium potion before setting her hands on a soldier’s thigh and applying pressure. 

* * *

Three days after the skirmish, Elsie had spoken to Mother Giselle, but she had still not left the Crossroads, much to Cassandra’s agitation. The injured were many and everyday more came in the hopes of being seen by a healer or someone who could help them. Broken families and quiet children became a common sight to Elsie as she helped heal those in the greatest of need. 

It was on the fifth day that Cassandra finally dared to approach her directly. They had not spoken to one another since Elsie’s cool dismissal and she had barely spared a thought for the Seeker - Elsie’s primary concern was helping those in need and she said as much to Cassandra when they spoke as Elsie finished wrapping a bandage around a young man’s arm. 

“I spoke to Mother Giselle before she left for Haven,” Cassandra said levelly, watching Elsie work. 

“Did you indeed,” she replied, not looking up from her task as her fingers worked deftly to complete the dressing. 

“Yes and she said she spoke to you about appealing to the Chantry directly in Val Royeaux-”

“And I will,” Elsie interrupted, tying a knot, and tugging on it to test the strength. “But I cannot even think about journeying to Orlais when my work here is not finished.” 

Cassandra frowned and crossed her arms. She was silent for a moment as she considered her next words. “You are needed elsewhere, Herald. We must return to Haven at once to plan with the others about how we approach the Chantry in Val Royeaux!” 

Elsie remained silent as she checked her handiwork and smiled at the soldier. “How does that feel?” 

The young man nodded gratefully. “Much better, thank you, Your Worship.” 

She got to her feet and wiped her hands on a cloth. “You’re welcome. Now, make sure you rest and you’ll be back swinging a sword in no time.”

“Yes, Your Worship,” he mumbled, lowering his eyes. 

Elsie walked into the main cabin and approached the desk where she made a note on the patient’s care on a ledger. She idly rubbed her neck as she wrote, as the bruising there was still painful and was turning a grotesque shade of purple. Cassandra followed her and waited as patiently as she could, which Elsie knew she was pushing. Finally, she turned to the Seeker.

“I’ve spoken to Corporal Vale - there is much work to be done here: much more than healing these people.” 

Cassandra bristled. “So let the healers and physicians take over and let us return to-”

“No, I cannot,” Elsie said sharply, cutting Cassandra off. “Whilst the healers can now cope with the wounded here, what about outside of this valley? Cassandra, the King’s Road is not safe for these people to leave and return to their homes. We need to stop the Templars and apostates, not to mention the raiders and mercenaries, otherwise our leaving would just undo all of the work done thus far and endanger the lives of those we have already saved!” she exclaimed. Her voice had risen unintentionally and a few patients in the beds around them looked over at them both curiously. Closing her eyes, Elsie took a breath before continuing more calmly. “Don’t you see? If we alleviate the threat in the Hinterlands, word will spread of the good and sustainable work the Inquisition is doing - which will hole more sway and influence when we eventually do go to Val Royeaux.” Elsie’s hand’s shook, so she clasped them together, hoping the Seeker had not noticed. “And I know it must be me that helps - you must’ve read the reports from Vale: there are rifts all over the Hinterlands only I can close.” 

The two women stared each other down for a moment until Cassandra finally spoke begrudgingly. “It seems you’ve thought a great deal about this.”

Elsie shrugged. “It helps to think and keep the mind busy when you’re wrapping bandages and the like,” she replied, in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

Cassandra signed and conceded. “Very well. Your theory is sound, even though I don’t fully agree. I know for sure the others back at Haven won’t approve either.” 

Elsie smiled faintly. “Well I am sure they will cope,” she said dryly, just knowing the reports the Commander would receive about her stubbornness to cooperate to his orders would drive him mad. “In any case, I will write to them - personally - to explain our plans.”

“That would be helpful, I suppose.”

“Excellent,” Elsie grinned, rubbing her hands together. “Now, will you help me give these poor folk some lunch?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the 1 week delay this month! I've been having issues with my MacBook typing it up, so had to switch everything over to my husbands laptop. Finally getting there! Next month's will be on time, as I've almost finished it already :)   
> Thanks and take care!


	6. Cullen

> _ Arguably those first few weeks following the formation of the Inquisition were the most pivotal. Although there was no leader yet, the initial actions were carried out by the Herald of Andraste herself. The advisors were there to simply advise, but it does appear that she took her own path and made her own decisions in the Hinterlands, much to the apparent frustration and anguish of the others (see appendix VII for detailed experts of letters). Some may think her brash and arrogant, but her legacy of saving lives and helping others is evidence to the contrary. _

\- An extract from the book ‘Lady, Mage, Herald, Inquisitor: a biography of Elsie Trevelyan’ by Hugo DeSalvet  


* * *

  
  
**6\. Cullen**

“She’s done  _ what _ ?” 

They were in the warm and stuffy War Room for their morning meeting and Leliana had taken Cullen and Josephine through the latest report from Scout Harding in the Hinterlands and Cullen couldn’t quite believe his ears.

“The Herald has secured most of the inner Hinterlands - she’s been very busy indeed,” Leliana replied, handing the report to Josephine. 

“Goodness,” the Antivan exclaimed. “Mounts for the Inquisition secured from Dennet; apostate camp destroyed; templar stronghold disassembled; rifts closed; forward camps established… it goes on!” 

“Let me see that,” Cullen grumbled, taking the missive from the ambassador. He skimmed the contents. “Reports of a dragon! Maker’s breath, is she trying to prove something? That she is immortal, playing with fate this way?” 

“I hardly think that’s her intention, Cullen,” Josephine said evenly. “Her hard work and determination in the Hinterlands will no doubt bring us useful allies, and perhaps even the Queen of Ferelden may begin to take notice.” 

“Indeed,” Leliana said, clasping her hands behind her back. “I’ve received word from my spies that the work the Herald is doing is laying the foundations to our reputation - everyone is talking about her and her deeds.” 

Cullen passed the report back to the spymaster, but he was not sold yet. “She was told to return to Haven once she had spoken to Mother Giselle-”

“Oh! That reminds me: the Good Mother arrived this morning actually,” Leliana interrupted. 

“Ah, excellent,” Josephine replied. “I shall ensure she is comfortable with rooms in the Chantry.”

“Now hold on-” Cullen tried to get a word in but not for the first time, his words fell on deaf ears as Leliana and Josephine continued to chatter - that part of the conversation about the Herald was past and settled, in their view.

As the women began to talk enthusiastically about a noble’s daughter they once knew, Cullen turned to his pile of reports and opened one with interest as he recognised Cassandra’s handwriting. 

_ Cullen, _

_ I have made contact with Corporal Vale and whilst I’m sure he has filled you in already on the granular detail, I just want to confirm that the relief efforts are progressing albeit slowly: although it would be slower still if it weren’t for the insistence and help of the Herald.  _

_ I am still very unsure what to really make of her. On one hand, she acts rashly and appears to have exceedingly high morals. I would call her selfish, but the Herald has hindered our progress with the sole reason to help the people here - I can see no other reason nor ulterior motive.  _

_ On many occasions, I have stressed that we would be better off leaving Corporal Vale and his soldiers to do their assigned duties without our interference, but the Lady Herald is almost as stubborn as you are.  _

_ Despite this, I hope for us to return to Haven within the next week or sooner, Maker willing. Trevelyan needs to learn that she can not fix every problem under the sun.  _

_ With regards, _

_ Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast  _

* * *

Nearly four weeks after receiving Cassandra’s letter, there was finally word that the Herald had finally left the Hinterlands. And yet a week after that, there was still no sight of her or her party. Every day since, the people of Haven had been anticipating her return and more people arrived daily seeking help or enlisting in the meantime. Although Cullen was loathed to admit it, Josephine and Leliana had been correct: the work she had been doing in the Hinterlands was increasing their reputation and influence as well as bolstering their forces. Each and every day, Cullen found himself face-to-face with more new recruits, from sellswords and mercenaries to templars and apostates. Not only that but more and more young men and women were signing up, eager to fight and learn, even though they were still wet behind the ears. 

As Cullen watched over a small regiment of new recruits run drills one afternoon, activity in the expanding stables caught his eye. He saw Josephine approach the new horse master Dennet and exchange excited words, whilst looking at a horse he couldn’t quite see. Cullen excused himself and left Rylen to continue the drills, as curiosity got the better of him.

“Aye, ‘tis a fine breed indeed, even if it is from the Marshes,” Dennet was saying, brushing the horse’s mane. 

Josephine nodded thoughtfully. “Hmmm, it seems my letter to Bann Trevelyan proved to be more beneficial than I had anticipated.”

“I’ll say,” Dennit continued. “This is not the only Trevelyan horse they’ve sent - have a look at the missive, milady: there are to be at least half a dozen more expected in the coming weeks.” 

“What do you think, Cullen?” Josephine asked as he approached. 

He looked at the mare who was quite calm in her stall, despite the flurry of activity. She was a soft sandstone colour with a peppering of warm dark marks like freckles on her rear.

“This is a fine horse,” Cullen conceded. 

Josephine smiled and looked annoyingly smug. “You see Commander - a little nobility can go a long way.”

“No doubt that is why you are the Ambassador and I am not,” he replied dryly before turning to Dennet. “You mentioned more horses from Trevelyan?”

“Yes ser - they are to arrive soon, but this one was sent ahead: she’s is a gift for the Herald.”

Cullen crossed his arms. “They needn’t have bothered with the effort - by the time the Herald does come back to Haven, the horses could’ve been here and be on their way back in that time.”

Josephine rolled her eyes. “Lady Trevelyan will be back soon: she is doing such good work, as you know.”

“Even though she can’t follow simple orders,” he muttered.

“Forgive me ser, err, Commander,” Dennet interjected before Josephine could reply. “Beggin’ your pardon, but if it weren’t for her, many of the folk in the Hinterlands would’ve perished, and then some.”

Cullen said nothing and inspected the new Trevelyan mare again. It was hard to stay angry at the Herald even when his own prejudices and assumptions about her told him he had every right to be annoyed. And yet Dennet’s words had abruptly put him in his place. However, disagreeing with her blatant lack of regard to follow orders or even acknowledge them was something he could not tolerate from any of his recruits, nor any of the men and women who served the Inquisition’s army.  _ Maybe that’s where my fault lies _ , he thought.  _ Perhaps I need to stop seeing her as a recruit and take her for what she is _ . Although he wasn’t sure what that was exactly - other than a stubborn, noble mage, who was annoyingly beautiful-

“Commander?” Dennet interrupted his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or agitated that he hadn’t been able to complete his trail of thought, as it was dangerous territory. 

“Sorry - you were saying?” he tried to give the man his full attention. “I’m afraid my mind was momentarily elsewhere.” 

“Thinking about trebuchets, no doubt,” Josephine teased. 

He didn’t dare entertain the thought of voicing what he had actually been thinking, so said smoothly: “Funny you should mention that Lady Ambassador,” he continued, silently gleeful at his expert diversion. “We’re having a few issues transporting some materials for the construction of the trebuchets. Apparently, some Orlesian seems to think he owns Haven.”

Dennet snorted. “Even though it’s in Ferelden.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Cullen said, flashing a rare but brief smile at Dennet. It was good to be back in his home country and to be with fellow countrymen. 

Josephine sighed. “Leave that to me - I will arrange a meeting with the Marquis and smooth things over. A good day to you both,” she said, excusing herself politely. 

“While you’re here Commander, would you like to see your stallion?” Dennet asked, making his way further into the stables. 

Cullen nodded and followed him. “I suppose it would be good to see him. I feel I am rather neglecting him at the moment.”

“It’s understandable ser - but he is gettin’ a bit restless,” Dennet admitted as they approached his black-coated Ferelden Forder. His hooves kicked the barn wall and he grunted as Cullen went to offer him an apple Dennet handed him. The stallion blinked slowly at Cullen before being sold by the treat and begrudgingly began to eat the apple from Cullen’s open palm.

“Have you thoughts of a name for him yet?” 

“I haven’t, no,” Cullen admitted. “What did you call him, as his breeder?”

“We’ve called him Al since he was born, as he’s always been strong-willed and is very much the ‘alpha male’ with the other horses,” Dennet chuckled. 

Cullen thought for a moment, patting the stallion’s dark neck. “I’ll call him Alphonse - but Al for short.”

“Very good, ser,” Dennet smiled. “It’s a strong name for a strong horse.” 

Alphonse nudged Cullen’s hand and he went to scratch the horse’s nose. “I’ll take him for a ride tomorrow - could you see to it that he’s saddled and ready by first light please?” An early morning ride suddenly sounded a very appealing way to start his day. 

As Dennet excused himself to assign work to some loitering stablehands, Cullen stayed a while longer with Alphonse, grateful for the silent companionship. His eyes travelled over the expanding stables that were filling up fast with mounts. He looked over at the Trevelyan mare and was reminded of her words about losing everything with her family when she became a mage. He, like all who joined the Templars, had also sacrificed his homes and family... but he and most of his fellow recruits had surrendered it willingly and with pride, unlike their charges. Why had he not considered that before?

“Commander?” 

He turned to see a young page run up to him, with a letter in his hand, the seal unbroken.”This just arrived for you - from the Lady Herald,” he explained breathlessly. 

Taking a final look at the Trevelyan horse, Cullen thanked the boy and began to walk back to his tent, slipping his fingers beneath the seal. He was unsure why his gut lurched at the thought of a letter from her, but all the same, he was perhaps a little keen to see what she had said. Upon writing this, she had been thinking of him. Although, their farewell at her departure had been less than amicable.  _ Is that why I feel this way? Guilt? _

He unfolded the letter and stopped outside his tent to read in the sunlight. 

_ Commander Cullen, _

_ I understand that you may have a few reservations about my insistence upon staying in the Hinterlands. The fact of the matter is that these people need us, and I am all too capable to help. For you see, I am not a soldier in your army (you’re welcome, by the way, for the new recruits), I am not even under your command, and I do not follow your so-called orders. I am not, and I will never be your charge. I am a free woman, a free mage and will do what is right, and not blindly follow orders or wait until the last possible moment to do the right thing.  _

_ I will return when I return. Until then, try not to treat every passing mage as suspiciously as you do me. I know it will be difficult, but I have the  _ utmost _ faith in you. _

_ Regards, _

_ Enchanter Elsie Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste  _

He read the letter over several times outside his tent before scrunching it up in his fist.  _ She knows then, _ he thought. “Curse that dwarf!” he swore aloud.

“Cullen?” he glanced up to see Rylen looking at him peculiarly. “You alright there, mate?” 

He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Yes, fine, fine. Just a...frustrating report from the Herald is all.”

“I didn’t know the Herald was a dwarf,” the Starkhaven man quipped, earning him a glare from Cullen. He threw his hands up and chuckled. “Kidding, just kidding. Fancy a game of Wicked Grace to take your mind off whatever is going on in that curly head of yours?” 

Cullen flinched at the subconscious use of his nickname bestowed upon him by the said dwarf and slowly shook his head, even though he was tempted. “Another time, perhaps. I feel the result of this report is going to give me much more work to do.”

“All the more reason to take a break now!” Rylen grinned, opening his arms in exaggeration. 

With much reluctance, an hour or so later, Cullen found himself convinced and was sat in the tavern with other officers. He stared down at his tankard of ale, barely touching it and hardly playing the game, only speaking when was socially necessary. He still had her letter in his pocket, albeit scrunched up, and yet what she had said was burned in his mind. The hum of the tavern noise was drowned out as he repeated her words over and over in his head, beating himself up more and more each time. Finally, when it was his turn to deal and Rylen elbowed him in the ribs, Cullen decided to down his drink in one before focusing on the matter at hand - winning Wicked Grace. 

* * *

A couple of days later, Cullen headed over to the stables, as was now part of his morning routine. As usual, Alphonse groomed and saddled, ready to go. He gratefully took the reigns from the bleary-eyed stablehand who barely registered he was there and mounted the stallion. 

It was a cold morning, and even though it was dawn, there was little light as the sun was obscured by thick clouds. Nonetheless, Cullen dug his heels in and set off at a canter down the road, looking to perhaps ride for an hour to some of the forward camps dotted around the outskirts of Haven. 

But Alphonse had different ideas. The horse moved well beneath him, and in the last few mornings together, had become accustomed to one another. He found himself on one of the forest paths, which went ever so gradually upwards a small hill on the side of a large mountain. He crossed not another soul, except from the morning chorus of the birds and one nug that ran out in front of Alphonse. It was idyllic and Cullen silently thanked the horse for leading him on a different path. He felt human again, and alive.  _ And today is a new day _ , he thought, watching the sun rays peek through the clouds. The crisp morning had proven to be a serendipitous medicine to him. 

As he descended the mountain path, he spotted fresh hoof marks in the snow which were not his own. He slowed Alphonse down and inspected them, estimating that there were perhaps three or four sets of hooves. He scratched his head and continued on - it had been a very long time since he had done any tracking, so his knowledge was terribly limited. 

Upon approaching the stables, he was astounded to see it a hive of activity. Before he had left, it had been only himself and the sleepy stablehand and now stableboys and girls and assistants ran errands and Dennet’s voice boomed over the commotion. Cullen walked Alphonse into the chaos and saw four familiar horses outside, ready to be unsaddled. 

“Lady Cassandra,” he said, spotting the Seeker. “You’ve finally returned.”

The Nevarran woman smiled thinly. “Finally indeed. Although I expect we will be back on the road soon if the Herald has anything to do with it.”

“As long as I’m given time to soothe my saddle sores, I don’t care,” Varric grumbled, limping away from his horse. 

“If you had given us a proper warning of your return, then all arrangements for baths could’ve been made and ready for you-”

“Is that the sound of a disapproving commander, I hear?” another voice from behind him said. He whipped around to see the Herald pull her dark brown travelling cloak off her shoulders. “And it’s barely an hour past dawn,” she continued with a wry smile. 

He opened his mouth to reply but snapped it shut as he took in her appearance; chestnut hair loosely braided down her back, windswept strands framed her face, and her cheeks and nose were flushed from the cold wind. He tried to remember that he was angry with her, but for the life of him, at that moment, he couldn’t understand why he would be mad at such a simple but beautiful woman…

“Lost for words, Commander? I’m flattered,” she smirked, her grey eyes twinkling mischievously. He blinked, his stomach flipping as her words were far too close to the truth. 

She walked up to him and frowned as he still did not speak. Once again, his eyes involuntarily skimmed over her, but this time settled on her neck, where dark bruises were beginning to fade.

“What’s this?” he asked, impulsive brushing his gloved fingers gently over the marks. 

It was Trevelyan’s turn to look uncomfortable, and her hands flew to her neck self-consciously; touching his in the process, which he snatched away as if scalded. 

“Oh, this? This is nothing. A minor inconvenience at the Crossroads is all,” she said dismissively, not meeting his gaze. 

Cullen’s brow furrowed and a twinge of what felt like fear came over him. “You were attacked,” he stated. 

“Well yes, that  _ is _ one of the hazards when you step into the middle of a war,” she forced a smile, but it did not reach her eyes and she faltered when she saw him looking down at her. “Careful Commander,” she said quietly. “Or I might think you actually care.” 

His face heated up at her words and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, ahem. As long as you are alright.”

She smiled softly at him, and his gut twisted, not unpleasantly. “I am, thank you.”

He nodded, mainly to himself. “Good. well not good, but yes I am pleased you are alright. You are our only way of sealing the rifts, and we can’t afford to lose you.” he said and instantly regretted his words as she stiffened and her smile vanished. 

“Ah, I see,” she said. “We can’t forget that I only have one use, and one use only,” she muttered, wriggling her fingers on her hand with the mark. 

Cullen crossed his arms. “That’s not what I-”

“Isn’t it? Well it doesn’t matter,” she glanced at him and Cullen mentally kicked himself.  _ You were worried about her as a person, is that so hard to admit _ ? he thought. He began to formulate something to say, but her eyes had been drawn away from him to something over his shoulder. She brushed past him, her eyes wide in awe as she approached the stall with the Trevelyan mare.

“Hello beautiful girl,” she murmured, placing a hand on the horse. “You’re Trevelyan bred, aren’t you?” she said with wonder. 

Cullen cleared his throat and approached, making the Herald jump. “She’s a gift from your family.”

Elsie smiled faintly. “From my father, you mean. I sincerely doubt my mother had anything to do with this.” 

He looked at her curiously, trying to comprehend her meaning, but she simply shook her head. “Nevermind - it’s a long story.”

Cullen didn’t press her but watched her quietly as she petted the horse, noting that she seemed almost at ease with the beast, and yet she chewed her lip, so he knew her mind was racing. Again, he was drawn to that simple innocent action which flooded his body with heat. 

“What will you call her?” he asked, forcing himself to look at the horse and not Elsie. She contemplated his question by chewing her lip again and Cullen stared pointedly at the horse. He had to do something to stop his straying eyes.  _ How can she elicit such a range of emotions from me when she’s none the wiser? _ He thought. 

“Rose,” she said eventually.

“Rose?” he repeated. 

“Well, they’re my favourite flowers, as cliche as that sounds, plus it reminds me of simpler times, at home,” she admitted, her cheeks faintly tinged with red, which Cullen couldn’t help but smile at.

“My sister is called Rose,” he blurted out suddenly. Elsie studied him with surprise. “Well, it’s Rosalie actually, but we always called her Rose when she was a baby.” He was rambling, but the woman before him appeared to be listening to him, so he continued. “I don’t know if she likes to be called that now though - it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen her.”

“When was the last time?” Elsie asked.

He thought a moment. “I was thirteen when I joined the Templars and left my family behind. So, what’s that? Sixteen, seventeen years? Maker, Rose was a toddler when I left and probably doesn’t remember me!”

“I’m sure she does,” Elsie said gently. 

There was a pause. “If you don’t mind me asking, but how old were you when you went to the Circle?” 

The question seemed to surprise her, but not as much as he surprised himself with it. Still, she didn’t scold him but tilted her head to the side. “Well, now that you mention it, I was probably about the same age as when you joined up. My sister Cecelia must be the same age as Rosalie: she was three when I left.”

“Cecelia didn’t forget you,” he said slowly. 

Elsie smiled sadly. “No, she didn’t. But I was lucky enough to sometimes visit home - perks of being the ex-heir of a noble house in the city,” she shrugged. 

They fell into a comfortable silence, their minds on times past, and Cullen thought of apologising for bringing up her deceased sister. But she didn’t seem angry or upset, just reflective. He himself was now more desperate than ever to see his siblings once again, as they were so close here in Ferelden, but still so far. 

“Well, here we are,” Elsie said from the blue, and Cullen looked at her in confusion. “We’ve just had our first conversation that didn’t end up in bickering!” she laughed. “I take that as progress!” 

Cullen couldn’t help but smile down at her. And that’s when he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was falling or Elsie Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste, and a mage.  _ Maker’s breath _ , he thought. She patted his arm affectionately and said farewell, heading to the bath-house. Cullen had to stop his mind from making the obvious assumption that in order to have a bath, she would have to remove her clothes-

“Dennet!” he cried out in a strangled voice, cutting off his thoughts abruptly. “I’ll take Alphonse out for a ride again tomorrow morning.”

The horse master raised his brows at his outburst but nodded. “Of course, Ser - I’ll make sure he’s ready.”

Cullen nodded. “Good, that’s good,” he said, watching Elsie walk away, noting the sway of her hips. He swallowed.  _ I want her _ , he thought.  _ Maker help me. _

* * *

Unfortunately, the tentative truce Cullen had formed with Elsie did not last long. That very afternoon, the war council convened and once again their opposing views on matters clashed head-on. To him, appealing to the Chantry seemed pointless, especially if the remaining clerics were anything like Chancellor Roderick. But the infuriating woman was determined and Cullen was vaguely aware of Cassandra’s words in her letter to him all those weeks ago: ‘She’s almost as stubborn as you are.’

Cullen drummed his fingers on the pommel of his sword at his hip, trying to ignore the pressing headache that had begun slowly but was now battling him, full-force. He was frustrated that he was starting to feel weak and was annoyed at Elsie more than anything. But if arguing with her had taught him one thing, it was that once her mind was set on something, she would see it through: her work in the Hinterlands was proof enough. As she listened to Josephine explain some of the itineraries for her trip to the capital, Elsie tilted her head to the side and he saw those dreadful marks around her neck again, and not for the first time, he wondered what had happened and why she had brushed him off. He tried not to think too much about  _ why _ he was so concerned with the thought of her being hurt, especially as it was in the past and she was clearly a skilled mage in combat, from the little he had seen.

Cassandra caught him staring at Elsie and his face heated with embarrassment. She shook her head, mistaking his actions.  _ Probably telling me not to pick a fight with the Herald _ , he thought. 

A wave of exhaustion overcame him, and he felt like all of his willpower had been purged out of him. He shuffled from foot to foot to try and wake up, and to bring sensation back to his legs, but even concentrating on the effort to do so was enough to make him feel the fatigue take a fresh hold of him again. Carefully, so as not to draw attention to himself, Cullen laid his papers down on the table and took a steadying breath, hating how his hands shook.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he looked up to see Cassandra watching him with thinly veiled concern. He shook his head slowly, the world spinning as he did so, and the room fell silent as all of the women stopped talking to look at him.

“Commander?” the Herald said. “Are you alright?” Her voice was sincere in her concern and much kinder than he rightly deserved.

“I’ll ah, I’ll be fine in a moment,” he managed, as even forming words in his mouth was tough. 

“Perhaps now would be a good tie to adjourn for the day,” Leliana said smoothly. “We can continue the preparations for your journey tomorrow morning before you leave in the afternoon.”

Cullen shot a brief but grateful look to the spymaster, who barely inclined her head.

“Yes, that’s a good idea. It has been a long day,” Elsie conceded, still looking at him, a slight frown on her face. 

As they gathered up their papers and went to leave the war room, Elsie lingered, as if waiting to speak with him.  _ Not now _ , he thought wearily as he winced at the sudden shot of pain in his head, like a weight pressing behind his eyes. His unlikely saviour came in the form of Josephine who blocked Elsie’s line of sight.

“Come Lady Herald; let us take tea in my office. I would love to hear more of your life in Ostwick,” she said, looping her arm with Elsie’s, and thus steering her out of the war room. 

Reluctantly, Elsie left with Josephine, but not before throwing him another look over her shoulder, before the door closed softly. Once alone, Cullen took a couple of steps backwards and sunk into one of the cushioned chairs, throwing his head back. He closed his eyes, grateful of the calm and oddly peaceful darkness. 

He must’ve fallen asleep almost instantly because when he came to, he was aware of two things: one, that his neck was awfully stiff from sleeping upright; and two, that he was not alone. 

The Herald was perched on the war table, watching him. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of everything from his dishevelled state to her long, unbound hair and their fairly close proximity. If he reached out, he would’ve been able to touch her knee. 

“You talk in your sleep, you know,” she said, breaking the silence.

Cullen cleared his throat and rubbed his neck. “Do I?” he mumbled, knowing full well that he did. He was all too aware of the intimacy of the situation and had no clue as to why a woman who appeared to resent him was calmly sat so close to him, alone.

He coughed again and forced himself to stand, grateful that his migraine had vanished. “I thought you were having tea with Josephine,” he remembered, his voice low and hoarse from sleep.

She shrugged casually. “I did. But that was four hours ago. So I popped in to get some reports - for bedtime reading you see - and what do I find? A burly commander sleeping like a baby and talking in his sleep,” she teased with a small smile.

He said nothing and moved to stand next to her, picking up his own neglected reports. She slid off the table gracefully and leaned back, resting her elbows on the wood.

“Look, Commander… Cullen,” she said quietly, and he jolted as she said his name. It was the first time, so he looked down at her in surprise. “I… I wanted to apologise. I’ve been a right pain in everyone’s backsides and I… need to do better - to  _ be _ better - especially with you.”

“Why me?” he asked slowly.

Elsie sighed and shook her head, her chestnut hair falling around her face.”Don’t make me say it, Commander,”

His heart thudded in his chest as he waited.  _ Surely she doesn’t feel something too? _ He dared to hope. It was then he noticed how his hand on the table was perilously close to her elbow and as she looked up at him, he couldn’t help but glance down at her pink lips which looked so, so soft. It would take little effort for him to lean down and-

“You’re a templar,” she continued. “Or you were, and I’ve been unfair and judgemental.” 

Cullen closed his eyes briefly.  _ Of course _ , he thought.  _ It’s just you having another ridiculous infatuation! _

“Although, I’m sure you’ve been doing the same to me - what my being a mage and a noble,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“I thought you were apologising?” he said flatly, but the corners of his mouth tugged into a faint smile.

She glared at him then smiled in return. “Very funny, Commander.” 

“Well then, it seems I owe you an apology also,” he admitted. “I promised myself I would not jump to conclusions and judge mages unfairly as I have in the past. I need to do better too.”

Elsie opened her mouth to say something, perhaps about his previous interaction with mages, but she pressed her lips together and decided better of it. Instead, she pushed off the table and turned to face him, holding her hand out for him to shake.

“To not being our stereotypes?” she offered. 

There was no sign of mockery, no teasing, no jibes, just honesty. He placed his hand in hers and shook it firmly, relishing the feel of her hand in his, even though they were gloved. “To not being our stereotypes,” he agreed, indulgently holding her hand a moment longer than was proper; but if Elsie noticed she didn’t say anything.

She picked up her notes and helped him gather his reports and they left the war room together, walking in a comfortable silence through the quiet Chantry. It felt like a weight had been lifted and he felt invigorated as they walked amicable, side-by-side. As they approached the large Chantry doors, raised voices could be heard and they looked at one another in alarm before pushing them open.

In the courtyard outside there was a commotion taking place between two clear groups: templars and mages were faced off against each other and Cullen could feel the thrum of magic as the mages summoned spells at the ready to attack or defend as the templars gripped their swords. Cullen stared at his fellow templars with unconcealed disappointment and out of the corner of his eye, saw Elsie with a similar look at the mages. 

“So much for the stereotypes,” she muttered, so only he could hear. 

“Enough of this!” he shouted, making both groups jump and turn their attention to him.

“These apostates were-”

“That  _ templar- _ ”

“ENOUGH,” he bellowed, holding a hand in the air. “We are not part of any Circle or the Chantry here. We are  _ all _ part of the Inquisition.” He crossed his arms and stared them all down, daring them to say otherwise.

“What about you and the Herald?” a voice Cullen couldn’t place called out.

He glanced at Elsie who met his gaze levelly. 

“Speak plainly and we will answer,” she said, her hands on her hips. 

A young mage stepped forward, defiant. “Are you his charge, Herald? Does he watch over you?” 

_ Yes I watch her _ , he thought,  _ but not for the reasons you think _ . 

“I am nobody’s charge but my own,” she said hotly. “And neither are you.”

There was a murmuring before another voice shouted: “But we’ve heard you don’t get along! Why should we comply when  _ you _ don’t?”

“The Herald is not my charge,” Cullen said vehemently. “She is my…” he hesitated. “Friend.” 

Her eyebrows shot up and Cullen looked around at the crowd, refusing to meet her eye. If he did, he knew his face would heat up and someone would guess his ill-conceived infatuation. 

“It’s true the Commander and I have not always seen eye-to-eye and I doubt we will agree on  _ everything _ but look at us here and now: standing together before you as equals, as allies, as  _ friends _ .” she spread her hands. “We all have much bigger problems to deal with than this. If Cullen and I can set aside our differences to work together for the greater good, then for the love of Andraste, so can you.” 

The crowd murmured around them with many heads nodding, whilst some still looked unconvinced. 

“It will take time,” Cullen said calmly.”But it is not beyond the realms of possibility to be civil and work together.” 

He was going to say more, but a man jostling through the crowd made him stop and cross his arms. “Back to your duties, everyone,” he ordered, and the groups willingly dispersed as  Chancellor Roderick strode up to them.

“A rousing speech, for a heretical mage and templar,” he sneered. 

Elsie stiffened. “I thought you had gone to Val Royeaux to seek my execution or something of the like.” 

Anger licked at Cullen’s gut. “Haven’t you done enough already,  Chancellor ? Leave the Inquisition on peace, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Is that a  _ threat _ ?” 

“It could be,” Elsie said darkly and Cullen felt a pull of magic and spotted sparks of fire in her clenched fists. 

“You  _ dare _ threaten  _ me _ ?” he cried incredulously. “And  _ you _ , you templar - can’t you do a better job at keeping your mage under control?”

Elsie hissed between her teeth but didn’t move. “You just don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

“My thoughts exactly.  Chancellor , perhaps you had better talk with Seeker Cassandra or Sister Leliana before either of us do something we might regret.” 

“I wouldn’t regret it,” Elsie murmured.

“Nor I,” he breathed.

Chancellor  Roderick flailed and opened his mouth like a fish out of water, gasping for air, before throwing his hands up in frustration and storming between them. He spun on his heel at the Chantry doors and pointed a finger at them. “You’ve not heard the last of this,” he spat, before slamming the Chantry doors behind him.

“If only it were,” Cullen deadpanned, and Elsie snorted.

“At least that is one thing we can agree on.”

“What’s that?”

“Our mutual dislike of that man,” she smirked and his chest tightened. 

Suddenly, he wanted to kiss her: to leave her breathless and see if tasting her mouth would be enough to sate him, and put an end to the temptation. But she had shown no sign of having any thoughts of that inclination, so he cleared his throat.

“Shall I escort you back to your cabin?” he offered.

“Ohh, an escort? Is this because we are  _ friends _ ,” she teased, falling into step beside him. 

He rolled his eyes. “I… forgive me if I misspoke, but-”

“No, no, it’s quite alright. I think I  _ would _ like us to be friends if we can.” He tried not to look too pleased with her words but he was all too aware that if Elsie looked at him, she would catch him with a silly grin on his face. 

“It would make sense to know more about each other if we are working together. I already know about half of Josephine’s family history,” she continued as they walked, their boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow on the path. 

“Well, what would you like to know?” he asked.”Perhaps you’ll find we have more in common than our mutual hatred of  Chancellor Roderick.”

She chuckled. “You see, that’s one thing I am learning about you already - that you have a darkly sarcastic sense of humour, quite similar to my own. I never would’ve guessed it.”

He shook his head sadly. “My secret is out, Maker help me,” which earned him another trickle of laughter that was light and musical. He adored it.  _ Andraste, if I can make her smile and laugh and be her friend, then I can be content with that...can’t I?  _

As he bade farewell to her outside of her cabin, he walked slowly away, shuffling around the thoughts in my head.  _ I will have to be content, _ he thought.  _ As this will feeling will never be reciprocated.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being a week late... again...  
> I aim to be back on track as soon as possible!  
> Thanks for reading and stay safe (and wear a mask)

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments, kudos and shares are all I live for.


End file.
